The Marked Man
by TeslaJet
Summary: As a dragon rider, Eragon strove for peace. But after being kidnapped by the monster, he finds the galaxy is nothing but the opposite.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither Inheritance cycle nor Warhammer 40k. Both of these and their characters belong to their respective owners.**

Prologue: Monster

The half moon hung in a cloudless sky, illuminating the river below. The wind blew gently through the leaves of the trees that lined the river. It would have seemed to be an entirely benign night, except for the lack of animal noise. For there were none. Aside from the rustling of leaves the night was silent. Every creature, even the insects, had fled the area by a certain bend in the river, sensing the fell presence that lurked there, waiting.

The monster crouched amongst the trees, its serpentine shape coiled and ready to spring. Silently, it waited for its prey to come near. It had searched long for its goal, and now nothing would keep it from accomplishing it. Everything would go perfectly tonight.

Around it, 60 humans also waited. They were tall and dark skinned, as befitted a race that lived in the desert. Dressed in light linens, most of them also wore leather armor. Many of them clutched bows, while the rest fingered daggers and other weapons. All of them were hiding, camouflaged amongst the plants lining the river.

The monster hissed as one of its minions sneezed. They shrank away, fearing the monster's wrath. The monster fumed. His current minions were a far cry from the warriors it was used to commanding, be they daemons or Astartes. Indeed, against the foes they were about to face it would have been far better to have brought more capable followers with him. But breaching the wards that protected this world had been hard enough alone. Forcing even a small force would have been impossible. So for now, these humans would have to do.

It was those same wards that protected this world that also prevented it from using the full extent of its powers, binding its sorcery to a xeno language. It hissed again, this time in disgust at the thought, hating that this world had made him dependent on a foul alien language. But it was a price he was willing to pay for the mission.

It had stumbled upon this tribe of nomads soon after it arrived in this world. As mere mortals, they were easily aligned to its cause through the powers granted to it by the Prince of Pleasure, Slaanesh. Only their shaman refused him, but that was no obstacle. A few minutes were all that was necessary for it to enslave the shaman's mind. After that, it had been easy to convince the nomads to help it.

Now it sat in its hiding place, waiting. It forbade its followers any movement, anything that could give their position away.

For hours, they remained as thus, the mortals exhaustion kept at bay by fear of their master and anticipation for what he could bring. Then their target came into sight.

A ship came around the bend in the river, its sail gleaming faintly in the moonlight. On the deck, it spotted a few beings, beings that looked markedly similar to the Eldar. The exception was the one with dark blue fur and fangs. That one also had a strange aroma surrounding it. The monster paused, analyzing the scent, then smiled. This would make its plan much easier.

And there near the prow of the ship stood its target. He stood tall, his features a mix of human and Eldar. An elaborately worked scabbard hung at his hip, and a bow and quiver were slung across his back. He was swinging a sword, obviously practicing. His movements were fast, fast as an Astartes' attack, but with a grace akin to a harlequin. He seemed to epitomize the ideal warrior. The only flaws on his body were the white calluses on his knuckles. The monster frowned. Why he had the calluses the monster had no idea. They would have to go, or maybe be replaced with something more aesthetic, like claws.

Behind the ship swam the largest threat to the plan. A sapphire dragon's head and back were visible in the river, her scales glinting in the moon light. To any other creature she would have seemed the epitome of magnificence. The monster was not so easily impressed.

The monster waited for a moment, modifying its plan, then initiated the first phase. As quietly as it could, it whispered the words to a spell, resenting its reliance on such means for its powers. The spell worked perfectly. The aroma surrounding the furry figure suddenly intensified dramatically. Within seconds more figures emerged on deck. The female ones instantly mobbed the furry one, shrieking all the time. The males, milling around in confusion, tried desperately to relieve the furry one of the aroused females attacking him. The monster smiled. Phase one was complete. Time for phase two.

_Attack_, it commanded telepathically. All around him, the minions with bows drew them back, arrows nocked, then released them at the cluster of beings on the ship. The monster growled another string of syllables, making sure the brown haired figure was unharmed by the volley. The rest of the beings on the ship were cut down by the murderous volley. Half of them fell, slain, while the rest who were unaffected by the aroma spun around, wounded, searching for the ones who had done this.

"Garjzla" the monster said. Purple bolts exploded from its four arms, shooting across the river and impacting on the remaining males. They fell, burn marks marring their features, eyes wide in pain and shock.

Now the only threat left was the target and his dragon, which had taken flight and was headed straight for the monster's location. With a roar, the dragon's jaws opened and fire as hot as a promethium stream billowed out. The monster itself was unaffected, but some of the monsters minions were caught in the conflagration. They screamed as they were torched, fire marring their features before it consumed them. As the dragon passed overhead, the monster unfurled its own wings and rose into the air. With a hiss, it abandoned its minions and shot toward the boat. Its target had just enough time to mouth a spell, one of the death words in the xeno language. It had no effect on the monster, who promptly knocked him out and grabbed him.

With a victorious roar, it flew away from the river, the dragon in hot pursuit. She cursed the monster as a coward and called it all manner of vile names. The monster would have dearly loved to have turned around and killed her, but now was not the time. It could not afford to alienate his prisoner too much. Later however…

The monster continued forward, ignoring the insults and threats leveled at it, until finally reached its route away from this world. A derelict arch lay in front of him on the ground. It looked innocuous enough, but its appearance belied its usefulness. Casting energy forward, the monster opened up a section of the Eldar webway, the only way to access this world at supraluminal speeds. Lightening cracked as the portal opened, exposing the white swirling tunnel of the webway. Putting on a sudden burst of speed the monster dove straight through the portal and closed it, leaving its pursuer behind. The dragon was left hovering in the material universe, roaring and shrieking.

_ERAGON!_ She wailed.

The monster flew through the webway, using a route it had gleaned from the mind of a harlequin. Under one of its four arms its prisoner rested, safely unconscious.

The monster smiled. The sixth son had been retrieved. Abbadon the Despoiler's 14th Crusade would take place with the six champions of Slaanesh leading the charge, and the hated corpse emperor would be toppled. Humanity would be…

A psychic bolt hit the monster in the side. It roared in agony and ecstasy as pain lanced its body. It spun around to see a shadowy figure flit into view. Despite the stark white of the tunnel, all the monster could make out was a silhouette. It was reminiscent of an Eldar, but the monster couldn't see any more details.

The silhouette sent another bolt of psychic energy at the monster. This one impacted on the monster's muzzle, charring it. The monster roared, angry at the scar that now blighted its jaw. As one of Slaanesh's greatest devotees, it could not stand imperfection of any kind. And now this thing had the audacity to blight its perfection. It was so tempting to attack this interloper. Indeed, if it had been Khorne's disciple it would have. But it couldn't. It must master this impulse.

The monster tried to turn away, but the silhouette's mocking laugh stopped him. Before the monster could react another bolt crashed into its chest. Roaring again, the monster charged the silhouette, its own psychic might gathering in its palms. The silhouette gave way before the assault, dancing and dodging around the attacks and responding with its own bolts.

They dueled each other, tearing rents in the webway as they sped along the tunnel. The conflict dragged on for hours, then days as the monster and silhouette continued their battle. Then the silhouette dodged to the side and made a slashing motion with its arms. The monster turned to see the webway opening in front of it. The monster yelped as its momentum carried it out of the webway and onto a sandy surface in the material universe. It impacted, plowing a furrow in the desert sand.

The monster got up and took stock of its situation. It had just been ejected from the webway… right into the middle of an army of Necrons.

It looked up to see its antagonist outlined by the light of the webway. The last glimpse he caught was of the silhouette, Celgorach the trickster god, laughing at him. Then with a crackle, the webway closed, leaving the monster to its fate.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Severus Ullmar, former chaplain and current dreadnought of the Ultramarines, hated Necrons. They were soulless, foul xenos, an abomination in the sight of the Emperor. They attacked and harvested millions of good imperials for their nefarious purposes. They were a terrible species, a blight on the face of the galaxy, with few redeeming features. And unfortunately, one of those features was their firepower. This was the current reason why he detested them so.

Severus would have gnashed his teeth if he still could have. Instead, he contented himself with clenching his power fist, the only way a dreadnought could physically express its frustration. He was currently behind a rock formation, hiding from a force of Necrons guarding a battery of doomsday arks. Around him, a team of devastator marines also sought shelter among the rocks, hands clutching bolters and multi meltas.

It had been bad enough dealing with the Chaos cults that had sprung up on Antares Tertias, a desert planet with, incredible as it seemed, natural adamantium deposits. That had originally been why the Ultramarines 9th company had been called in, to assist the Imperial Guard in regaining control over this incredibly valuable world. The cultists had proved to be stubborn. Under the combined force of the Astartes and Guard however they had given away. They were in the middle of cleaning them up when the Necrons had appeared and started their siege of the hive city New Babylon. The whole situation had only worsened since then.

Severus watched the Necrons through a crack in the rock. Teams of skeletal Necron warriors were lined up, searching for threats to their lord. Among their ranks were Necron immortals, clutching double barreled gauss weaponry. Behind them hovered triarch praetorians, the bodyguards of the Necron overlord, warily surveying the area. Behind them stood the Necron lord itself. It appeared to just be standing there, but Severus knew it was really directing its troops through some heretical means.

Behind the whole force floated the doomsday arks. Looking like particularly malevolent scorpions that had lost their claws, they were the reason Severus and his team were here. For the whole siege they had been back here, their every shot causing terrible damage and woe among the human defenders. Their guns had to be silenced, which was why Severus and his team had deployed via drop pod to this location.

As soon as they had hit the ground the Necrons had reacted, pulverizing the pods with their strange weaponry until nothing but slag was left. Severus and his devastators had barely made it out alive. Firing, they had been forced to beat a hasty retreat to the nearby rock formation. The situation had only worsened since.

A Necron destroyer, its skeletal body fused to a hovering chassis, came around the rocks in which they were hiding and fired. Green lightening arced from the weapon and incinerated one of the Astartes. Severus returned the favor in the form of twin lascannon blasts that turned the destroyer's torso into melted slag. The hovering chassis hit a dune and was driven into the sand by its own momentum.

The world flashed green as a doomsday ark fired. Severus, his onboard sensors compensating for the flash, saw an enormous beam of green light erupt from the nearest doomsday ark and vaporize the bottom of a spire in the nearby city. With a prolonged crash the rest of the spire came down and collapsed in on itself. Severus growled. For the city to have any chance of survival those arks would have to be destroyed, but there was no way for this to happen. Even Severus' adamantium and ceramite armor would be pierced by the Necrons' strange gauss weaponry. He looked up, and prayed to the Emperor for something, anything, to help destroy the arks.

There was a flash and a crackling of energy. A white hole seemed to open in the sky. With a flash of light it expelled something into the ground. A serpentine figure with four arms raised itself from the ground and looked around, and then at the hole in the sky. With another flash the hole closed itself, leaving the monster to deal with the Necrons.

The dreadnought had just enough time to wonder if he had gotten something wrong with his prayer. The monster appeared to be a daemon. A daemon prince in fact. This was confirmed by Severus' on board scanners. His scanners also spotted a figure tucked under one of its arms. They couldn't confirm exactly what it was, but it was clearly inactive.

The monster flung itself on the surprised Necrons. White lightening shot from its palms and lanced through a squadron of Necron warriors, disintegrating them. The Necrons responded by opening fire on the daemon prince. A barrage of green light lanced towards the monster, but merely glanced off its sides. With a shriek, the prince charged forward, lashing out and eviscerating two immortals. The Necron lord backed off, coordinating a Necron charge in the process. Warriors, destroyers, and triarchs surged forward. The daemon prince sent a flurry of sorcerous lights at the front line of the charge and then, dodging around the shots aimed at it, counter charged. It devastated the front lines, hacking and slashing the Necrons to pieces.

Taking stock of the situation, Severus realized that in its bid to stop the daemon prince, the Necron lord had left its doomsday arks undefended. As much as he wanted to join the fight against the prince, to annihilate the abomination where it stood, his orders were to destroy the doomsday arks. And destroy them he would, he decided.

"Follow me brothers" he ordered as he began his approach. Stealthily, keeping to the dunes that could hide his bulk, he emerged from his cover and started to carefully make his way towards the doomsday arks. His retinue of devastators following, he crept forward. The noises of the battle continued as he and his team carefully slunk toward the doomsday arks. After what felt like a torturous amount of time, though it was only a few minutes, he was within range of the arks. With a loud warcry, Severus and his devastators charged over the hill behind the doomsday arks. The pilot in the nearest ark tried to react, but was too late to avoid the lascannon beam that melted it where it stood. Severus ran to the now pilotless machine and dug his power fist into the side of the ark. With a grunt, he proceeded to tear a huge gash in the necrodermis armor, then fired his lascannons into the inner workings of the blasphemous machine. The ark collapsed to the ground, smoking and utterly useless.

Severus turned away from the smoking wreck to check on the battle. The Necron lord was starting to notice the destruction of the arks, but was still focusing on the daemon prince. The prince looked to have sustained some wounds, but was still putting up a terrific fight. A ring of eviscerated Necron bodies had built up around the prince, a ring that was still growing.

The monster seemed to be speed and grace incarnate, as much as Severus hated to admit it. Every blow made landed, scarring if not tearing apart an unlucky Necron.

A gauss shot turned Severus' attention back to the doomsday arks. He quickly punished the pilot that had shot him with a lascannon beam, then moved on to the next ark as the devastators wrecked the ark itself with their melta guns. Four of the arks down, only one to go. The last one was quickly taken care of. The pilot was ripped apart by bolter fire and the ark itself was ruined by a few well placed melta shots. His task complete, Severus turned back to the battle.

By now, the Necron lord's pariahs had arrived. Wielding glaves with green, glowing blades the elite anti psyker soldiers closed in on the daemon prince, pushing through their fellow Necrons. The prince shrieked in pain at the pariahs' presence, unable to retaliate against them. The Necron lord itself attacked then, and joined battle with the prince. The monster slashed, hacking a piece of armor off the lord. The lord, undaunted, responded by cutting the arm of the prince. The pariahs quickly joined the combat, attacking with their glaves. One got too close, and was torn asunder by the prince. But with its psychic powers suppressed and the Necron lord attacking the prince couldn't continue. Under the combined pressure of the pariahs and lord, the daemon prince finally succumbed. It slumped forward, defeated. The lord paused, then unleashed a blast of green lightening that sheared a burning hole through the prince. The prince's body collapsed as the lord looked around. It found its doomsday arks ruined, wrecked by the now wary imperials. Without its arks, and with much of its forces destroyed by the now deceased daemon prince, its situation was untenable. It gave the order to retreat, then phased out of this dimension. Its army followed, taking their dead in the process and leaving the battle field silent momentarily. Then the cheering started as the confused but very relieved imperials celebrated.

Nobody noticed the figure that now lay curled underneath the corpse of the former daemon prince.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Darkness. That was the first thing Eragon was aware of. Darkness, totally surrounding him. Even with his eyes open, he couldn't see a thing. Next he smelled the stench of sulfur. It was pungent, overwhelming any other scents that might have been there. There was also something grainy underneath his face. It felt like sand, as if he were face down in the Hadarac Desert. Then there was the pressure on top of him, a weight that was pressing down on his back.

Eragon tried to lift the burden off his back but failed. He tried again, this time using all of his strength as a rider. Whatever was weighing him down was slowly lifted, and Eragon caught his first glimpse of sunlight. It was rather dim, but it was sunlight none the less.

With a grunt of exertion, Eragon heaved whatever was weighing him down off of him. As the object came off, a dark, blue sky was unveiled.

Eragon stood up and looked around. The first object he saw was the thing he had just thrown off of himself. It was the body of some monstrous creature, a four armed serpent. It was the very creature that had attacked him while on the _Talita_. But there were differences. The body was scarred all over; multiple slashes and burns marred its skin. A hole had formed in its chest, its sides cauterized by heat. Eragon frowned. His own magic had been useless against it, as had Saphira's fire. But these wounds, with their burns and heat born scabs, had to be magical in nature.

He decided to test his magic again. Concentrating, he breached the barrier that held his magic and said "Garjzla"

As soon as he tried the spell Eragon felt that something was wrong. Instead of coming in a controlled stream, the power he had summoned roiled out with all the ferocity of a rushing river. It rushed through him, suffusing his body with energy as it surged down his arm and out through his Gedway Ignasia. Instead of emitting a blue ray of light, Eragon saw clumps of sand and the even the corpse of the monster start to levitate. But what was far more unnerving were the voices he now heard. They whispered, shrieked, and howled through his mind, with no two voices sounding the same.

With a yell, Eragon cut off the stream of energy. The monster's body and the sand that had risen fell back to the ground as the voices abruptly stopped talking. Eragon stood there, unnerved. It was like the first time he had used magic, unexpected and frightening. Only this time it was worse. What had worked so many times before hadn't.

_The Ancient Language didn't work. But no, how can that be? And what were those voices?_ Eragon thought. He decided to test again. Looking around, he saw a small rock lying in the sand. Picking it up, he said "Stenr Riesa"

The rock rose into the air. Eragon smiled in relief, only to watch the rock suddenly fly away from him. Looking around, he saw sand starting to rise and swirl around him. His heart dropped in disappointment as the voices returned. He quickly severed the magic flow, sighing in relief as the voices stopped. This relief was quickly replaced by fear as he thought about what had just happened.

The Ancient Language had failed again. Hoping with all his heart that what he was starting to suspect wasn't true, Eragon ran after the rock he had propelled through his magic. Picking it up, he spoke the true name of the Ancient Language, then repeated "Stenr Riesa" The same thing happened. The rock floated into the air, then shot to the side as soon as Eragon relaxed. Completely shocked, he severed the flow of magic and sat down. He couldn't believe what had happened. The Ancient Language had failed to order his spells. Even when its name was spoken, the structure it was supposed to have provided was absent.

Eragon started to consider the ramifications of this, then looked down at the scabbard strapped to his hip. He let out a shout of dismay as he realized the sword that should have been there was missing. He bolted to his feet and frantically started to search the surrounding area. He ran in circles, looking desperately for a glint, a hilt sticking out of the sand, anything that would give away his sword's location. There was none.

_I must have dropped it when the monster knocked me out_ Eragon realized. He sank to the ground, his hope ebbing even further. It was then that he noticed the absence of another mind, the mind that had accompanied him for over a year. Saphira wasn't there, he realized.

Desperately, he reached out of his mind and frantically searched the area, frantically hoping for a mental signal from his beloved partner. There was none. He reached out further, sweeping the area for any mental signs. There was a cluster of minds, a huge cluster that temporarily boggled his mind with its sheer enormity. But not one of them was Saphira. Where ever he was, where ever the monster had taken him, Saphira wasn't.

Eragon experienced a moment of depression, before pulling himself together. He couldn't give in, not yet. Just because he was separated from Saphira now, didn't mean she was gone forever. He could still find her. For now, he had to find out where he was, and why the Ancient Language wasn't working.

Thinking back to his lessons with Oromis, Eragon searched for an answer to the second question. After a moment of looking through his memories, Eragon remembered the day he had attacked Vanir through magic, and what he had learned afterwards from Oromis. Magic had once only been governed by thought, and had been a capricious, dangerous tool. Only after the Grey Folk had performed their great enchantment had magic been bound to the Ancient Language. Until then, it answered to fickle thought alone.

Eragon thought hard. If that was the case, then maybe he could still use magic. Standing, he stretched out his hand and pictured a stream of fire. Concentrating on this image, he broke the boundary that held his magic. Blue flames roared out of his Gedway Ignasia in steady stream of blazing fire. Relief flooded through him as he severed the flow of magic. The voices were still there, but at least he knew how to control his magic.

Eragon looked around, analyzing his surroundings. He was in the middle of a desert, that much was clear. The sand and dunes stretched as far as the eye could see. The exception to this was the structure that rose from the ground about two miles from his current location. Eragon gave a second to study it. If this was where he had sensed the minds, then apparently this was some sort of city. But what a city it was. Spires soared into the air, their peaks as high as a mountain's. Even in its current state, with collapsed spires and wrecked buildings, its size amazed Eragon. The only city that could possibly compare to this sight was Tronjhiem itself.

Eragon paused, considering, then started running towards the only sign of civilization he had seen so far.

No human could have sustained the pace that Eragon set as he ran towards the city. But then, Eragon wasn't entirely human himself. Unladen by armor or weapon, he almost flew over the dunes as he ran. Despair threatened to break through him, but hope kept it at bay. Eargon hoped desperately that someone in the city could lead him back to his home as he ran.

As he came closer to the city he came across a multitude of bodies. Eragon stopped to study them. They were all dead humans, dressed in some strange garb that at a distance seemed to meld into the sand surrounding them. Closer inspection revealed that in actuality they wore strange uniforms mottled yellow and grey. He briefly wondered if the effect he had observed was some kind of magic, before dismissing it as an optical illusion caused by the uniforms. It was a good idea though, to dress soldiers as so, and he made a mental note to suggest it to Nasuada when he returned. If he returned. Eragon shook that last though off and turned back to the bodies.

Many of them were missing arms and legs. Sometimes only the hands remained. Eragon took a second to wonder what had done this. Was it more magic? Eragon looked around, searching for more bodies. There were none. Perhaps these humans had been ambushed then.

Many of the bodies clutched objects to them. Eragon leaned in to study one of them. It was about two feet long, with a tube taking up about a third of its length. The rest of its body was vaguely reminiscent of a crossbow, with a bulkier central body and a short stock, evidently for bracing against one's shoulder. Eragon picked it up, experimenting with different positions until he found a comfortable one with the tube facing away from him. Deciding to experiment, he fitted his finger into the trigger and pulled.

With a loud cracking noise a red beam emitted from the tube and shot into the air. Surprised at the sound, Eragon nearly dropped the thing. He looked more closely at it, wondering how it functioned. He pointed it at the ground and pulled the trigger again. This time, he was ready for the noise it made as it issued the red beam. After the shot, Eragon inspected the sand. To his surprise a spot of it had been melted into glass. Putting his hand over the spot, he could still feel the heat radiating from the newly formed glass. He looked at the thing in his hands with new respect. If it could fuse sand into glass, then he hated to think what kind of grievous damage would it do to flesh and bone.

Looking over the other bodies, Eragon saw more of the devices. _No, weapons_ he corrected himself. Eragon had seen enough sites of battles to recognize a weapon when he saw one. Some of the weapons looked different however. There was one very bulky one that sat on three supports. A metallic belt seemed to run into its side. Curious, Eragon placed the light emitting weapon down and walked over to this new weapon. He picked it up, testing its weight. It was relatively heavy and awkward, and for a time Eragon struggled with how to hold it. Eventually he discovered a way that worked. Looking over the heavy thing, he spotted another trigger, like on a crossbow. Pointing the weapon at the sand again, Eragon pulled. This time, a loud roar echoed around the dunes as small flames poured out of the end facing away from Eragon. At the same time it pushed, bucking and jolting backward. Cursing, Eragon did drop the weapon this time. He backed away from it and left it. As he looked around, he spotted a final weapon. This one looked different, like a spiked sword. Curious, he leaned down and picked up this newest weapon. He tested the edges of the spikes and found them to be incredibly sharp. This had to be a melee weapon. An odd one certainly, but a melee weapon nonetheless.

As he looked over the weapon he saw a red spot marked with a rune on the bottom of the hilt. Holding the hilt in one hand, he felt over the rune with the other, pressing down in the process. The thing screeched as it came to life. Its spikes churned through the air as they spun around the blade. Eragon nearly dropped it in surprise, before carefully lifting the blade to his face. The spikes continued to spin. Eragon realized this must be the way the sword was supposed to work. He winced as he thought of the terrible damage this could inflict on human flesh.

He pushed down on the rune again. The sound receded as the spikes slowed down until they stopped entirely. Eragon looked at the weapon for another second before belting it to his side. It wasn't Brisingr, but it was better than nothing. Looking up, he briefly considered taking one of the other weapons. The big one that roared was immediately discarded, so Eragon retrieved the one that made light and heat. Holding it in his hands, he resumed his journey toward the city.

Hampered as he was by his new weaponry, Eragon still made good time to the outskirts of the city. As he crossed the boundary of the city he looked around, noting the extensive damage done to the buildings. Many were little more than piles of rubble now. What buildings were left had suffered extensive damage. Eragon slowed down and stopped. As he took in the scene he became aware of something else: noises coming from further in the city. It was hard to describe some of them, but others sounded clearly like human voices.

_Whoever lives here must have retreated further into the city_ he decided. This area certainly looked deserted enough. He extended his mind out, trying to ignore the whispering that resulted from this, and scanned for others. There was only one group, a gang of humans pillaging whatever they could from the rubble around them. Eragon frowned, before turning to leave the area behind. Before he could leave someone behind him shouted "Hey mutie!"

Eragon stopped, frowning. What a "mutie" was he had no idea. What did concern him was the group of five people that emerged from around one of the piles of rubble. They were all adults, with the exception of one boy. All of them, both men and women, wore revealing black outfits and an eclectic array of tattoos. Each had vibrantly colored hair, and one had shaved his head so that only a strip of long hair remained. All of them were armed with weapons similar to the ones Eragon had inspected outside the city.

One of the men stepped forward and said "Put the lasgun down and maybe I'll let you live"

A woman behind him complained "Aw come on Rizo, it's a mutant. Just shoot it already"

Rizo shot her an angry look, before lifting his weapon and pointing it at Eragon.

Eragon knew he had seconds to act. As fast as he could, he sprinted forward and punched as hard as he could at the man. Rizo screamed as his ribcage caved in. He was lifted from his feet by the force of the punch and sent flying back into his comrades.

The strangers yelled as their leader crashed into them. Those who were not knocked over looked at Eragon in fear and raised their weapons.

Eragon, reacting as fast as he could, focused and shouted "Thrysta!"

The group of people was blown off their feet by the wave of force Eragon had just summoned. They had just enough time to scream before they impacted on the rubble pile behind them.

Eragon stood where he was, his hand still raised. With a start, he realized that his spell had taken none of his strength. He wondered just what else was different about magic in this place.

He heard a groan, and realized that one of the humans was recovering from the spell. Eragon ran over to the one that had groaned, a boy with bright orange hair. The boy's eyes opened as Eragon flipped him onto his back, then widened in fear as he saw Eragon's face.

"Where am I?" demanded Eragon, relishing the fact that he could at last get some answers.

The boy's face went white, but he didn't speak.

"Where am I?" Eragon repeated more loudly.

The boy blurted out "New Babylon City sir"

"What is this land?"

"Land?"

"This place, what is it called?"

"Antares Tertias"

Eragon frowned at the unfamiliar name, before another question came to mind.

"What is a mutie?" he asked, in a calmer voice.

A look of confusion added itself to the boy's already terrified face. "A mutie? It's a mutant"

"And that is?"

"You know, a mutant, like you"

Eragon stepped back, pondering what he had just heard.

"What are you going to do to me?" the boy asked, tears leaking from his eyes.

Eragon sighed, pity starting to well up in him. "Nothing" he replied. He turned around and left.

It was a new situation for Eragon. As a dragon rider he had been respected and looked up to. If the group he had just defeated was any indication, this land not only wouldn't respect him, it would revile him. Eragon hoped that wouldn't be the case all the time.

He continued toward the city's center, but with caution now. In the distance he saw more humans. These were dressed like the ones he had seen slain outside the city. They seemed to be manning an outpost of some kind.

Eragon stopped to consider his next action. He could continue onward, but that would risk being attacked. And with the Ancient Language gone, he didn't think he could protect himself if they attacked. On the other hand, what choice did he have? If he was to get back to Alagaesia, he would have to speak to someone sometime.

While he was considering, a flurry of activity seemed to overtake the outpost in front of him. Men shouted and ran away from him, gripping the same weapons that Eragon currently held. Eragon watched for a moment, then started to make his way towards the outpost. He ran, keeping to the shadows, as the men deserted the barricade in front of him. Over their shouting he could hear the cracking noise of the light weapons and something else. A chant. As Eragon neared the outpost he started to make out the chant.

"KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN!" a group of voices shouted. Eragon frowned and extended his mind outward. He sensed a sea of minds. Many of them were panicking as other minds disappeared. A small group of minds belonged to soldiers, desperately trying to restore order. The last group felt different from any of the others. Not only did aggression dominate them, it consumed them.

Eragon broke into a full out sprint. He vaulted over the barricade…and into a scene of chaos.

A huge crowd of men and women milled about, screaming in terror as a group of men attacked the crowd. The attackers were continuing the awful chant of "KILL! MAIM! BURN!" as they slashed and hacked at the crowd. They were all physically distorted, with huge rippling muscles that bulged grotesquely. All of them wore maniacal expressions, laying into the crowd with a horrifying glee. And all of them had a tattoo of an eight pointed star on their foreheads or arms.

Bodies littered the ground as blood emptied from the corpses. The men who had previously been manning the outpost were either trying to direct the crowd away or firing their light weapons at the aggressors. Some of them fell, but many were obscured by the panicking civilians. Some of the soldiers didn't seem to care who they hit in their efforts to stop the attackers, while others attempted to fight their way through the crowd to the chanting aggressors. It was utter pandemonium.

Eragon stood there, taking in the sight. He raised his hand to start a spell, then remembered that his magic didn't work. He lowered his hand, considering. He didn't know whether to intervene or not. He risked being attacked as a mutant, whatever that was, if he stepped in. But he couldn't just stand there while people were slaughtered like this.

Eragon lifted his light weapon, but realized he couldn't hit any of the attackers without hitting an innocent. He dropped the weapon and pulled out the spiked sword. Fumbling for a second, he pressed the rune on the bottom of the hilt. With a roar the spikes started spinning again.

Uttering a war cry, Eragon sprinted forward, slipping around the edge of the melee, and ran towards the tattooed aggressors. He yelled, and slashed with his strange sword at the nearest attacker, decapitating him. Following up he slashed again, watching as his sword cut easily through the backs of two attackers. They collapsed, but they weren't defeated. They tried to turn around, but Eragon quickly stabbed them higher in their backs, watching as his sword churned through flesh and bone, causing terrible damage. The two aggressors collapsed limply as their fellows started to take notice of him.

"Blood for the blood god!" one of them shouted as he lunged forward, a club coming down for the killing blow. Eragon blocked it, his sword screeching as it sheared straight through the crude weapon. His follow up cut through his attacker's head. More of them charged, but where defeated by a series of lightening strokes delivered faster than the human eye could follow. Another wave surged forward. Eragon backpedaled, then swept his spiked sword in a wide arc that slashed through their chests. Some of them faltered, while others continued forward, keeping up their howling chant. Another two arcing slashes and all of them were dispatched.

More crowded around. An ordinary human being would have succumbed under the brute force and faster reactions that the brutes possessed. None were a match for Eragon and his strange sword however. He slashed and hacked, shearing through the tattooed aggressors and their weapons. It wasn't easy however. Eragon sustained several cuts and bruises. Once, one of his more skilled opponents landed a thunderous punch that knocked the wind out of Eragon. He followed up with another attack, but howled in pain when Eragon blocked his fist with the spinning sword spikes. Two more attacks and his limp body crashed to the ground.

No matter how many of their comrades he felled, the tattooed aggressors were never discouraged. They kept coming, single mindedly screaming "KILL! MAIM! BURN!" as Eragon mercilessly cut them down with his shrieking sword. They never fell back, they never fought from a range, they never ceased howling their war cries.

As Eragon decapitated another attacker, he noticed that the crowd of attackers was finally thinning. With renewed vigor, Eragon slashed at the final attackers, watching as his sword hacked through the flesh of the aggressors. His immediate foe fell to the ground as Eragon stabbed him through the chest. Eragon straightened, then noticed the final aggressor.

This one looked different. Its muscles bulged from its form even more than its fellows. Its biceps alone were the size of a child's head. Two horns curled from its head, looking like an Urgal's aside from their bronze color. It stood over seven feet tall, with skin the color of blood. Two wings reminiscent of the lethrblaka sprouted from its back. It stood thirty feet away from Eragon, grinning. Eragon breathed in and caught the whiff of sulfur, like with the monster that had kidnapped him. He stared at the creature with a new emotion surging through him. Anger. This creature was kin to the one that had kidnapped him.

With a warcry Eragon lunged forward, his spiked sword held aloft to make a killing blow. With a speed equal or even superior to his own, the final attacker dodged and backhanded him across the face. Eragon spun around, tasting blood in his mouth. Recovering, he swung the sword again. This time it connected, slashing across the monster's chest.

Amazingly, the monster seemed unaffected. Roaring in anger it lunged forward. Eragon bent out of the way just in time, swinging his sword. This time it caught on one of the monster's wings, severing it. The monster whirled around and grabbed Eragon's blade. Despite the churning teeth it wrenched the weapon out of the rider's hand and snapped it on its knee.

Eragon watched this in disbelieving horror. He was not a skilled hand to hand fighter, so his only chance left was magic.

Eragon tried to reach for his magic, but monster was too fast. It slashed at him with its claws, roaring all the time. Eragon barely managed to avoid the blows. One of them landed, slashing three long tears across his body. Eragon yelled in pain, and then punched as hard as he could. His fist connected with the monster, and it was thrown back several feet. It landed on its feet, more enraged than ever, but its flight had given Eragon the time he needed. Eragon pulled on the magic and shouted "Brisingr!"

Nothing happened. Eragon focused this time and shouted "Thrysta!" The monster, just about to attack, was thrown back by the concussive force. This time when it landed it seemed hurt. It stood up unsteadily, fury spilling from it. Eragon readied himself and sent another wave of force. The monster was slammed against a building. It was hurt, but not defeated. Eragon readied himself for a third blast, but was halted when the voices in his head started to grow louder. Suddenly, a malign presence invaded his mind. It immediately sought to take control of Eragon's consciousness. Eragon fought hard, but more presences entered his mind. As he collapsed to his knees he was dimly aware of the monster standing up and limping towards him. He tried to summon another blast, but the presences in his mind used the opportunity to force their way further in. Eragon was helpless, caught between two foes.

The monster stood before him, grinning. Feebly, Eragon brought his hand up to block the inevitable blow. It was a futile effort. The monster howled a final war cry. "Skulls for the skull throne!" it screamed. It raised its arm to disembowel Eragon with one final attack. Then a bright beam of white light speared it through the chest. The monster disintegrated into ashes.

Eragon looked around. He saw a group of bulky figures making their way forwards. Before he could make out any details the assault on his mind intensified further. He collapsed, his vision going dark.

Severus Ullmar lowered his lascannons as the daemonhost's ashes collected on the ground. His onboard sensors confirmed that it was indeed dead, and satisfaction surged through him. His satisfaction ebbed as he trained his storm bolter on the prone figure lying next to the late daemon. He zoomed in on it, taking in the slanted facial features and pointed ears. It looked like an Eldar, but Severus' scans said differently. Taking a closer look, he saw the creature's body was more ruggedly built than an Eldar. It also possessed raised calluses on its knuckles, something no Eldar would have.

Perhaps it was some kind of Abhuman, he mused. A mutant maybe. There were signs of humanity in its biology. All the same, it had showed signs of sorcery. At best, it was an unsanctioned psyker. At worst, it was a Chaos sorcerer. In any case, then Severus had no choice but to terminate it.

He focused his storm bolter on the figure and prepared to end its life. And then something happened. A light appeared on the figure's brow, shining for a moment, before it disappeared. Curious, he zoomed in on the figure's forehead.

He couldn't believe what he saw. The mark of the rosarius, the Emporer's own mark, was newly branded onto the abhuman's forehead. The insignia almost seemed to glow for a moment, before receding into the dull color of a burn.

Severus stood there, stunned. He had just watched a miracle: the Emporer had bestowed His mark on a mutant. The sign was clear. Or was it? It could have been some sort of Chaos trick, to lull him from the path of righteousness. If that was the case, then he was duty bound to destroy the pretender where it lay. But what if it was a miracle? Could he take that chance?

Severus glanced around. His team of devastators was looking to him, awaiting his decision. The remaining guardsmen all had their weapons cocked, ready to execute the abhuman where it lay. Severus reached his decision.

"Lower your weapons" he commanded. The devastators did so. The guardsmen looked at him, confused.

"Lower your weapons, now" he commanded again. The guardsmen reluctantly did so. Severus turned to the sergeant of the devastator squad. "Sergean Valentinian, take the abhuman to Apothecary Tullius" he ordered, "And call for codicier Caesar to come planetside" Valentinian saluted, and repeated the orders to his men. He then strode forward and carefully picked the abhuman up. Severus could very well imagine the confusion the sergeant felt. He himself felt doubt about his own ruling. He decided that if he turned out to be a pretender Severus would execute the abhuman himself.

Seeing Valentinian walk past, the dreadnought turned to follow.

_Eragon's mind was under siege. Forces as persistent and powerful as Durza's mind had attacked him relentlessly. They gibbered and roared as they closed in, fighting to take control of Eragon's mind. Eragon fought back with all of his strength, but the presences continued to gain ground. They closed in on his being, ready to devour him._

_Then another presence came. With a grand exertion it swept the other presences away. Eragon hesitantly expanded his mind, until it had filled its natural borders again. He then turned his attention to the new presence that had liberated him. It felt unimaginably vast and incredibly powerful. Millennia of experience was contained in its mind, and magnificence radiated from it. It brushed past Eragon's defenses, searching through his memories. It seemed to linger on his memories of healing spells, before withdrawing from Eragon's mind._

_Eragon dared to ask "Who are you?"_

_The grand presence replied "Know this: I am your Emperor, the Emperor of Mankind" His voice thrummed with power and wisdom, shining like the sun itself. But there was also terrible pain contained in his voice, as if he had suffered for centuries and even now continued to suffer._

_The voice continued "Listen well, for I cannot speak for long. In your home world you have healed many, and perhaps you still can heal. I would strike a pact with you. Heal my son, Roboute Guilliman, and I swear you will be returned to your world"_

_Elation filled Eragon, before hopelessness replaced it. "I cannot heal in this world. The Ancient Language has failed me"_

_The Emperor replied "You have a measure of control already, and with training you will receive more. Come to Terra and I will soulbind you. Then perhaps, you will be able to heal"_

_Pain surged through their connection before the Emperor banished it. He resumed speaking. "I must be brief. Know that you will face persecution from my subjects and for that I am sorry. My empire is not what I envisioned it to be, but with my sons revived, maybe there is hope yet. I give you my mark, that my subjects will know you are of me._

"_I take my leave now. Do not fail me"_

_The Emperor left, leaving Eragon to fall into a deep sleep._

_Light years away, inside the Eldar webway, a silhouette leaned back, smiling. It had just pulled off its most audacious disguise yet, and it had worked perfectly. Even a soul bound psyker would have fallen for it. This ignorant Abhuman was no challenge at all._

"_Now the game really begins" it said gleefully._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Eragon jolted awake as electricity surged through him. He let out a yell and clasped his left arm, which still throbbed painfully.

"Finally" a voice grumbled. "You sleep like a drugged grox Abhuman"

Eragon's breath would have caught at the sound of the voice had he not still been gasping in pain. The voice was deep and gravelly, too gravelly to be natural.

Eragon turned his head in the direction of the voice. A figure stood beside him, clad in a strange, white armor. He, for it could only be a man, looked to be over seven feet tall, with a chest wider than the brawniest Urgal's. He was dressed in a large set of armor, the majority of which was white. A helmet covered his head. On it, two glowing red eyepieces brooded over a yawning mouthpiece. A red, winged skull was worked into the armor's chest plate, and red symbols adorned other parts of the armor along with neatly carved writing and pieces of parchment. Eragon tried to read some of the script, but the unfamiliarity of the runes confounded him.

Working up his courage, Eragon asked "What manner of being are you?"

Eragon couldn't see the being's features, but judging from the silence that followed the figure was surprised. After a moment, the figure replied, almost incredulously, "You truly do not know?"

"Should I?" Eragon returned.

"Every man, woman, and child knows of the Adeptus Astartes. Even Abhumans such as yourself know of us"

Eragon frowned. Adeptus Astartes. He had never heard of such as race. Then again, he had never heard of weapons that spat light or of swords with spinning blades.

"Is that a title, or your race's name?"

"It is our title and calling"

"But what kind of being are you?"

"I tire of your questions Abhuman. Know that I am human and be done with your speaking"

Eragon frowned, not only at the disdain the armored figure held for him, but also at the idea that it was human. No human could stand seven feet tall and possess proportions like the ones the figure had. He almost spoke again, but decided that in his weakened condition it wouldn't do to antagonize the giant any further. Instead, he contented himself with surveying his surroundings.

He was lying on a cot inside a white room. Two doors, also painted white, led into it. Eragon saw other cots lining the wall. Each had a pile of strange equipment on it, with blinking lights and moving pictures. Eragon blinked, then looked at the equipment again. The pictures were still moving. Amazed, he started to extend his mind towards it.

"Keep your mind to yourself Abhuman" another voice chastised. Eragon turned in the direction of the voice. Another figure had entered the room. It was armored similarly to the first figure, but was colored blue instead of white.

The white figure turned to the blue one. "Librarian" he greeted.

"Apothecary" the blue figure responded. He turned to Eragon, who was busy taking in the sight of this newcomer. He had felt Eragon's mental probe, so perhaps he was a magician of some sort, who could explain how magic worked here

Before Eragon could ask, the librarian asked the apothecary "Is he ready?"

The apothecary responded "Yes"

The librarian turned to Eragon. "Stand" he commanded.

Eragon turned and slid off of his cot. He stood carefully, testing his muscles as he did so. Everything seemed to be in order, but one could only guess what damage the malign presences in his mind had done.

"Follow me" the librarian said shortly. Eragon was beginning to tire of the disdainful attitude the two figures seemed to hold for him. Nevertheless, he hoped for more answers to his questions. If he had to tolerate this treatment, then so be it.

Eragon followed the librarian out the door and into a hallway. Behind him, the apothecary closed the door, and then continued after the librarian.

The hallway was lined with doors, which Eragon supposed led to other rooms like the one he had just left. This was confirmed by the glimpses he got through some of the open doorways he passed. The main differences between the one he was just in and the ones he was passing were the ordinary humans in them. Some of them were clearly injured, and lay on more cots. Others bustled around caring for them. With a start, Eragon realized that he must be in some kind of medical building.

As they walked through the hallway they passed other humans. All of them deferentially moved aside for the two Adeptus Astartes. When their eyes alighted on Eragaon, there were mixed reactions. Many looked at him in confusion. Some glared at him, hate etching itself on their countenances. A few stared at him with hope in their eyes.

They finally made it to the end of the hallway, where they passed through a set of double doors onto a balcony. Eragon stopped, amazed at the sight that lay before him. Buildings and spires loomed around him like colossal, manmade mountains. Some were lavishly decorated while others were simple and utilitarian in design. Many were interconnected by bridges that soared through the sky. Weaving in between them were flying objects. It boggled Eragon's mind.

"Come Abhuman" one of his escorts said impatiently. Eragon started forward again, his gaze resting on the thing in front of him. It was bulky and boxy, with a rough metal skin. Two panels jutted out near its rear, with two cylinders held close by its main body.

Unable to contain his questions anymore, Eragon asked "What is that"

"A thunderhawk" one of his escorts said shortly.

They climbed through a large sliding door into the thunderhawk, as Eragon now knew it. Inside were two rows of seats with straps, one row along each wall. The librarian pointed to one and said "Strap yourself in" as the Apothecary closed the door. Eragon sat, feeling like a child sitting in a giant's chair. The two Astartes shut the door behind them. The interior of the thunderhawk instantly darkened, illuminated only by a few dim lights that seemed to be worked into the ceiling of the room. Yet another marvel.

One of the Astartes yelled "Take us to Captain Sinon"

Eragon heard a rush of air as a muffled screaming started up. The screaming grew louder as the thunderhawk surged upwards. Eragon had experienced enough takeoffs with Saphira to recognize one when he felt it. His jaw fell as he considered the implications of this. The thunderhawk was man made, that much was clear. He wasn't sure what spells, if any, had gone into its construction, but it could fly. Manmade tools could actually fly.

The flight continued for a few minutes, with nothing but the roar of the thunderhawk and the silent giants across from Eragon to keep him company. The flight itself was smooth, with none of the up and down motions Eragon was used to when flying with Saphira. It turned a few times but other than that they flew straight and true.

Later, the thunderhawk started to descend. The motion continued for a minute until the thunderhawk suddenly stopped, jolting its occupants. Recognizing the landing for what it was, Eragon rose from his seat, mimicking the two Astartes. One of them pulled the door open, and sunlight illuminated the interior.

"Follow me" the librarian commanded. Eragon followed him through the doorway into the blazing sunlight.

His surroundings had changed. The buildings and spires were smaller, though they still towered above him. Many of them were collapsed, signs of a recent battle. Eragon noted as they walked past a pile of rubble that many seemed to be formed out of some kind of stone like material.

All around him were humans. Most wore the mottled yellow and grey uniforms Eragon had seen before. Many had stopped their activities to watch the passing Astartes. As their gazes turned to the figure in between them, Eragon again saw a mixture of confusion, hate, and hope, along with apathy from those further away.

"Ow!" Eragon yelled. Someone had thrown a rock at him. He furiously stopped and glared around. Before he could do anything else a giant hand descended on his shoulder and propelled him forward. Eragon, seething and wary for more projectiles, did as he was bid.

They continued forward until three more figures came into sight. Two of them were akin to the librarian, standing over seven feet tall with blue armor. The other towered above even them. It looked to be 18 feet tall, and if possible was even more decorated than the two figures standing by it. Eragon thought it was some sort of statue until it turned and started walking towards him. It stopped ten feet away, with one Astartes flanking it and the other standing in front of it.

"This is him?" the figure in front asked, gesturing to Eragon. Eragon noticed that he wore no helmet, exposing his bald head. He had stern, chiseled features, with grey eyes that shone with intelligence. Above his eyebrows two metal studs protruded from his skin.

"It is" Eragon was amazed to see that the answer came from the armored behemoth standing behind the bald man. Its voice was even deeper than the Astartes that surrounded it. It also sounded more artificial.

The lead Astartes turned to Eragon. "Greetings" he said. "I am Captain Sinon of the Ultramarines chapter, 9th company. This" he said while gesturing to the giant behind him, "Is Dreadnought Ullmar"

The dreadnought said nothing as it was introduced.

"This is Sergeant Valentinian" Sinon said, pointing to the Astartes beside the Dreadnought, "Apothecary Tullius, and Codicier Caesar"

Eragon gave a short bow, "I am Eragon Bromsson, Shadeslayer" he responded.

Captain Sinon nodded, taking in the information. His penetrating gaze swept over Eragon, taking in everything. He asked "What is a shade?"

"What?" Eragon said, confused that he didn't know.

"Your title. What manner of creature did you slay to earn it?"

"A shade, a man possessed by spirits, who can only be killed by a blow to the heart"

Sinon looked intrigued. "Interesting" he said, "I would call it a daemonhost were it not for the fact that only a strike to the heart would kill it"

"A daemonhost?" Eragon asked.

"The creature you were fighting when you collapsed. The abomination that Ullmar saved you from"

Eragon looked behind the captain to the hulking figure looming over them both. "Thank you. I am in your debt for saving my life"

The dreadnought made a dismissive gesture with the claw on its short left arm. "To destroy the followers of Chaos is our calling to the Emperor" it said dismissively, before adding "However, you are welcome"

Eragon turned back to the captain as he said "Now, Bromsson, what world are you from?"

Eragon frowned at the question. "The same as everyone else. And what is an Abhuman?"

"You misunderstand me" Sinon said, ignoring Eragon's question. "What planet are you from?"

Eragon couldn't make heads or tails of the question. What planet was he from? Planets were objects in the sky that refused to follow the stars rotation around the sky, instead wandering wherever they willed. They were as small and incapable of bearing life as the stars themselves.

"I'm not from a planet" he said, thoroughly confused.

Impatience started to show itself in Sinon's eyes as he stated "Yes, you are. Do not jest with me"

"I'm not" Eragon protested. "I'm from a land called Alageasia. No one comes from a planet"

Sinon was about to speak when the dreadnought interrupted. "I think" it said "He hails from a feudal world, one that has forgotten humanity's true roots in Holy Terra"

Sinon nodded, understanding flaring in his eyes. "That would make sense"

Eragon leaned forward, suddenly interested. "You know where humans came from before they came to Alageasia?" he asked eagerly.

All of the assembled Astartes turned to the dreadnought. "Dreadnought Ullmar, if you would" said Captain Sinon

Severus Ullmar readied himself to tell a tale he had told countless times as a chaplain. He couldn't believe that one marked by the Emperor knew so little of the cosmos. He shook the thought off. He had been marked. That was what mattered.

"History is vague on many things. But know that humanity first came to be on the world of Holy Terra. It was on Terra that we came into existence, thought our first thoughts, and spoke our first words. It was on Terra that we made our first cities and fought our first wars.

"Our existence on Terra brought forth a Dark Age of Technology. Thousands of years of discovery and inventions, from adamantium to Warp travel. With these and more we spread across the stars, populating planets and establishing a mighty empire. Other species found us. They were eager to learn from us, and we from them. We intermingled with them" Severus allowed disgust to enter his voice at those last words.

"Alas, it did not last. In one short fall, our empire fell apart. Trade was replaced by war. Whole planets tore themselves apart as the remnants of humanity fought like starving dogs. The aliens who had once been our friends turned on us, killing and enslaving us for their own purposes, with no thought to the earlier kindness we had shown them. But worse were the daemons that wrenched themselves into reality. With their foul bodies they polluted thousands of worlds and harvested millions of humans for their foul gods. Oceans ran red with the blood of the slain, and those who were alive were forced to succumb to their persecutors or face the same fate.

"For thousands of years it was thus. With every passing day our species slipped further towards its doom. And doomed it would have been, were it not for the Emperor"

Severus allowed a moment of silence before continuing. "The Emperor. The father of mankind. It was during the Age of Strife that he revealed himself on Terra. Under His leadership Terra was unified. But that was not enough for Him. He wished to see the entire human race united in one mighty empire of might and prosperity.

"To do this he forged twenty beings, twenty generals whose might was only superseded by his own. Twenty great Primarchs were created. But the Ruinous Powers took notice of his plan, and sought to foil it by stealing the Primarchs away and scattering them through space. Undaunted, the Emperor forged twenty legions of superhuman warriors, the first Adeptus Astartes, from the genetic material of the Primarchs. With these, and the fleet of ships gifted to Him by the tech priests of Mars, he started the Great Crusade.

"Hundreds of worlds were liberated, their oppressors punished for daring to punish mankind as they had. The Primarchs were found and reunited with their legions, and together they reunited mankind under one banner, the banner of the Imperium of Man. The aliens who had deceived us were driven back. The daemons were cast out. Mankind had reached its apex. And then it fell again"

Severus paused, preparing himself for the next part. This was the worst part. The part that explained the wretched shape humanity was in this present day. _If only_ he lamented. If only what I will speak next hadn't happened.

He pressed on. "Horus, Warmaster of the Imperium, grew jealous of his father. In a betrayal of the blackest kind he sold his loyalty and his soul to the powers of Chaos. Fully half the legions and his fellow primarchs followed suit.

"What followed was the Horus Heresy. Thousands of Traitors descended on the Imperium, killing and destroying with all before them with the viciousness of a mad wolf. Hundreds of worlds burned. Billions of good imperials screamed in agony. Those who were lucky were killed outright. Those who weren't were sacrificed to Horus' foul patrons.

"Eventually they reached Terra itself, the birthplace of mankind. The slaughter was terrible. Wave upon wave of damned aggressors dashed themselves against the Imperial Palace. The defenders fought like heroes of legend. Every inch of ground they gave was sold dearly. But gave ground they did.

"Horus, in his utter pride, powered down the void shields of his battle barge _Vengeful Spirit_, allowing the Emperor to teleport aboard. With him he took two of his still loyal sons and the best of their warriors, along with his own bodyguard, the Adeptus Custodes.

"Using his Warp blasted sorcery Horus scattered the invaders throughout his ship. There, they braved horrors unimaginable, until Sanguinis, the angel Primarch, met Horus aboard the bridge. He attacked, and managed to breach Horus' armor before Horus killed him.

"The Emperor arrived just as he fell. He entreated Horus one last time, to turn from the path of Chaos. Horus laughed at him, and with a heavy heart the Emperor fought his once favorite son.

"The Emperor should have won. But he held back the final blow. Horus, feeling no such conflict, attacked and scored wounds that would have killed a normal man. It was then that one of the custodes arrived. Seeing his master crippled, he charged forward. Horus flayed him alive with but a glance. Seeing this callous act, the Emperor realized his son was truly lost. And so he gathered all of his might and annihilated Horus.

"The Primarch Rogal Dorn found him next. Under the Emperor's instructions, Dorn brought him back to Terra and installed him on the Golden Throne. And there he has stayed, for ten thousand years. For ten thousand years the Emperor has watched his Imperium. For ten thousand years, his armies have done battle with aliens, heretics, and Traitors. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."

There was silence after the dreadnought finished its story. Eragon found it almost too hard to take in. Thousands of worlds, billions of humans, a place called Terra, and war. War for ten thousand years. He could scarcely believe it.

He noticed that a crowd had gathered around the gathering, listening to the dreadnought's tale. Now that it was over, the crowd started to disperse as officers ordered them away.

"There are thousands of worlds?" Eragon asked numbly.

"Millions" the dreadnought answered.

"Billions of humans?"

"Trillions"

It was stunning. Eragon's universe had just become so much bigger. _And to think I was amazed the world…my world was round_ he thought.

"What world am I on?" Eragon asked in a quiet voice.

"Antares Tertias" Sinon answered "In the Antares Sector"

"Do any of you know where Alageasia is?"

They were all silent. Eragon almost despaired before remembering the promise the Emperor had made. His thoughts were interrupted by Ullmar, who said "Think not of your home world, for the Emperor has ordained you for his holy purpose"

"Enough of this" Sinon said. "Let us test him"

He strode forward and asked "What weapons can you fight with?"

Eragon felt somewhat relieved at the change of topic. "The sword and the bow, and I can…I used to be able to fight with magic"

Sinon's face contorted into a slight snarl as his hand made a symbol over his chest piece. The apothecary followed suit.

Sinon appeared to recover. "Very well. I shall test you with the sword" He drew an ornately decorated sword from its scabbard, then turned and pointed to a nearby human with a spiked sword at his belt. "You, I need your sword"

Startled, the human, an officer from the look of it, drew his sword and surrendered it to Sinon, who in turn handed it to Eragon. "Fight me" he said.

Eragon's eyes narrowed as he shifted into a ready stance. _Know your opponent_ Glaedr had told him. He took in the sight of the Captain that stood before him. He was huge, probably strong, though whether he was as strong as Eragon he did not know. With that amount of bulk Eragon would have the advantage of speed and agility, one that he intended to use.

He lunged forward, attempting to disarm the captain with one lightening blow. Sinon blocked it, then launched an overhead blow at Eragon. Eragon put his sword in the parry position, but staggered under the weight of the blow that collided with it. Even an elf couldn't muster so much force in one blow, not without magic. Eragon grimly realized that he was once again facing an opponent stronger than him. He backpedaled, then lunged forward. With surprising agility his opponent stepped out of the way, but didn't follow up the advantage. Eragon realized that he was being tested just as Arya had tested him in Tronjheim. With that realization he quickly launched a furious assault, his sword flying faster than the eye could follow. Moving just as fast, Sinon parried, blocked, and sidestepped.

The duel lasted for several minutes as Sinon tested every aspect of Eragon's sword play. Both were equal in speed. Sinon had the advantage of strength while Eragon was slightly more agile. _He who stands like a pillar, falls in battle. He that bends like a reed, is victorious_ Oromis had said. And Eragon was quickly finding that to be the case as he avoided Sinon's blows. His opponent also made liberal use of the axiom. Eragon couldn't believe that such a bulky figure could move so swiftly and gracefully.

Finally, Sinon tired of the game. He struck out, leaving his side open. Eragon immediately dove for it, only to see Sinon's blade come back and smash the sword out of Eragon's grasp. Eragon immediately drew back, shaking his stinging hand. Sergeant Valentinian stepped forward and returned the battered sword to its original owner, who stared at it glumly. Eragon became aware of applause. He looked around and saw another crowd had formed and was now dispersing.

"Not bad for an Abhuman" Sinon said. "However, your reflexes and strength are a mystery to me. How did you get them? Were you born with them?"

"No" Eragon replied. "I was changed by the dragons"

"And they are?"

"A species native to Alagaesia"

Silence reigned for a moment, then the dreadnought stepped forward. "Explain your history"

Eragon proceeded to do just that. "I was born in Palancar Valley to Brom, a former dragon rider, and Selena. I lived there until I was fifteen. When I was that age an elf sent me a dragon egg, which hatched for me. I became bonded to her, Saphira, as a dragon rider"

"What is the nature of this bond?" Ullmar interrupted.

"It is mental. We became two halves of a greater whole."

This appeared to shock the Astartes. Eragon continued his biography.

"Two monsters in the King's employ called the Ra'zac came looking for me. They sacked my farm and killed my uncle. My father and I left seeking revenge on the Ra'zac. We found them, but they killed my father. I met my half-brother there as well. I was guided to a prison by visions sent by the dragon hearts across the sea. There I rescued the elf that had sent me Saphira"

"When were you changed?" Sinon asked.

Eragon frowned at the interruption, but answered the question. "I was changed at a ceremony in the elves' capital"

"And when did you come here?"

"After I killed the king I had to find a place to reestablish the dragon riders, whom he had killed. I left Alagaesia with a group of elves and Saphira. A week after we left, a monster kidnapped me. He knocked me out so I don't know how I got here. I only know that it's dead"

There was a moment of silence as the Astartes absorbed what they had heard. Then Sinon spoke. "We have one more test, which will involve Codicier Caesar. Do as he says"

Eragon turned to the librarian standing beside him. The librarian unsheathed his sword and said "I am about to enter your mind. Do not resist"

Eragon did not like this at all. "Is this necessary?" he asked.

"Yes" the librarian said flatly. "Do not resist or I will attack"

Scowling, Eragon did as he was told. He lowered the barriers around his mind. Soon, he felt a presence enter his mind. It was old, centuries so, and filled with power. Eragon also detected a slight bitterness from the mind. Overall it was not as graceful as other presences he had felt, but it was undeniably strong.

The librarian, for it could only be him, started going through Eragon's memories. Many times he felt disgust emanate from his mind as he uncovered a memory. When he had finished going through Eragon's memories, he started to do something else. Eragon felt like the librarian was feeling the inside of his head.

At last, after a few minutes of this, the examination was over. Eragon felt the presence withdraw from his head. He sighed in relief, immediately putting his mental barriers up.

The librarian nodded to the captain. The captain turned to some of the nearby human soldiers who were watching. "Watch him for us" he commanded. He turned to Eragon. "Stay where you are. Do not attempt to probe our minds" He then gestured to all of the Astartes present, who withdrew to a group further away. There they stopped, standing in a circle, clearly in a conference. Eragon strained to catch what they were saying.

Severus Ullmar couldn't believe what he had heard. Not only was a man with the symbol of the Emperor a xeno sympathizer and a psyker, he was actually bonded mentally to a xeno. And yet he had been marked. What it meant would have to wait for later.

"What did you find?" Sinon asked as the Ultramarines circled around Severus.

The librarian leaned in, causing the others to do the same. "His mind is very strange. It feels like there's something missing from his mind, like a piece of it is absent. It echoes with blasphemous thoughts. The xeno taint is strong. But I also saw this: he has spoken to the Emperor"

That got the already attentive Ultramarines riveted to him. "How can that be?" Apothecary Tullius demanded. "He speaks to an Abhuman, a traitor, but not to his finest?"

"An Abhuman whom he marked" Valentinian interjected. Tullius shot him a look. With his helmet on the effect was wasted, but Severus was sure Tullius was furious.

"It's a blasted Abhuman!" he hissed. "A stunted Abhuman that's practically an Eldar. I say it's a trick. Maybe one of Chaos"

"No" the codicier interjected. "There was no trace of Chaos in his mind. The mark is genuine as far as I can tell, as was his conversation"

"What did they discuss?" Sinon said smoothly, overriding Tullius.

"They struck a deal. The Emperor promised to return him to his home world if he…if he healed Guilliman"

Silence reigned. Then Valentinian said incredulously "He can heal Guilliman? How?"

"He can't do it yet" the codicier replied. "But given training and a soul binding…the Emperor sounded confident that he could do it"

Silence fell again as all of them envisioned their Primarch whole again, whole and ready to lead his sons to battle against mankind's foes. Then Sinon said simply "I don't believe it"

"How much more proof do you need?" Severus cried in exasperation. "He spoke with the Emperor! He has his mark! How can you not believe this!"

"There's no way he's just Abhuman" Sinon said. "Not with strength and reflexes like that. My guess is he's part xeno. And he's bonded to a xeno. He is everything the Emperor expects us to hate. What would you have me do? Induct him into the Ultramarines? Let a half xeno pollute the gene seed? Let him become a space marine? No, I will not let it happen"

"But you must" Severus rumbled.

Sinon turned slowly and deliberately to Severus. "Severus. You have been my chaplain for three hundred years and my counselor for another hundred. I have listened to you before and you have rarely led me astray. But listen to yourself. No matter what mark it has, a xeno is a xeno. The Emperor would not have conversed with it or entrusted it with such a task. Besides, what psyker has the power to heal? Not even Tigurius has done it"

Just as deliberately as Sinon had, Severus spoke. "Captain Sinon. I saw him marked by the Emperor's holy power. Codicier Caesar has proved that he himself spoke with the Emperor. I need no more proof. He has been sent to us by the Emperor. Perhaps he is a half xeno. Perhaps not. But I for one will not ignore the Emperor's will"

The standoff lasted for a few minutes, each side resolute in their cause. Then Sergeant Valentinian stepped forward. "I think I may have a solution" he said. All eyes went to him. Valentinian continued "Put him in the Imperial Guard. Put him there and watch him. If he behaves like a xeno, then reject him. But if he conducts himself with valor and the other principles of humanity, like one chosen by the Emperor should, then we will at least take him to Tigurius for training"

Severus didn't like it, but he agreed to it. Captain Sinon, after considering, nodded. "Very well" he said.

Eragon watched as the group broke apart. He hadn't heard much of the conversation. Apparently the Astartes hearing was as keen as his own. He watched as they approached him. Sinon stepped forward.

"Abhuman, for now you will serve in the Emperor's Hammer, the Imperial Guard. From there, we shall judge you"

"Can I be soul bound and trained there?" Eragon asked.

"No, but if you succeed you will be"

Sinon turned to Valentinian. "Sergeant, you will see that he is inducted into the guard" With that he turned around and left.

"Come Ab… Eragon" Valentinian ordered. Eragon thought quickly. This was the only way he knew to get soul bound and trained. If he had to serve as a soldier again, then so be it.

He followed Valentinian.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

_ERAGON!_ Saphira wailed.

She couldn't believe it. He was gone. Just like that, her rider was gone, taken by the monster, the sulfur-stench-serpent. It was like they had disappeared from existence. Even their minds had disappeared. Normally this would have been mysterious enough, but she was far too busy lamenting her rider's fate to ponder it.

Desperately, she flew down to the arch through which they had disappeared and made the same slashing movement that the monster had made. Nothing happened. Even more frightened now, she repeated the action. Again, nothing happened.

Saphira frantically turned to her own magical abilities, trying to will her power out of her. But there was no inspiration. And without that, she was as powerless as a spider.

Angry at the arch, she nearly unleashed a blast of fire on it. Stopping at the last second, she instead raised her head and let a stream of fire shoot into the air, accompanied by a frustrated bellow. She took off, flying to and fro across the land, fire pouring out of her jaws. Whole swaths of the dry-plant-ground were set alight by her fury. Fires burned and smoke soon filled the air.

Saphira closed her jaws, making an attempt to calm herself. Rage though she might, it would do nothing to help retrieve her rider. Her fury ebbed, but the anxiousness for her rider remained. She looked down, and then followed her own gaze, coming to an abrupt landing on the charred-black-ground in front of the arch. Moving closer, she started inspecting it.

The arch was of the most curious construction she had ever seen. It seemed to be made out of some unknown material, something neither wood, stone, or metal. Indeed it almost seemed to resemble bone, but at the same time it was unlike any other bone she had encountered. Whatever the material was, it was stretched into intricate strands that reached from one graceful grouping to another. It was a bit like a spider web shaped into an arch.

Whatever this was, it baffled Saphira. She rifled through her memories, hoping to find something Eragon had read about architecture or magic that explained the anomaly in front of her. She now wished that she had paid closer attention to what her rider read as she realized she had no answer. However, the eldunari back at the _Talita_ might. Hope surged into Saphira as she took off again, this time retracing the route she had taken from the river to the spider-web-bone-arch. It wasn't long before she came across the sleek-floating-vessel. It had run aground on a bend in the river. As she drew closer she noticed the bodies clustered one the deck. The number of pointed-ears-two-legs who were still alive were woefully few. Only the black-wolf-hair-Blodhgarm and three females still stood on the deck. They seemed to finally be over the effects of Blodhgarm's scent.

For a moment she hovered in the air, away from the ship, trying to control the rage that had suddenly flared up inside her. She realized that these elves had done nothing as their comrades were slaughtered and her rider was taken. Indeed, were it not for Blodhgarm's scent, the ambush would not have gone so smoothly for the monster.

The temptation to vent her ire on the elves was great. But just as she was about to act on the impulse, Glaedr's mind touched hers and, reading her thoughts, said _Do not act on your anger towards them. It was not their fault that the ambush happened._

Saphira paused, then reluctantly agreed. She floated down and landed on the soft-riverside-ground. Blodhgarm cautiously approached her.

"Bjartskular, I am so sorry for what happened, and for my role in the ambush. Please forgive me"

Saphira growled, before nodding reluctantly. Blodhgarm's remorse was genuine, as was that of his comrades.

"What happened to the Shadeslayer?" one of the women behind Blodhgarm asked.

Saphira gritted her teeth as she explained how she had followed the sulfur-stench-serpent to the strange arch, how the serpent had opened some kind of tunnel in the arch and dove through it. She then told how the arch had closed, taking Eragon and the serpent with it, how even their mental presences had disappeared.

There was silence after she had relayed her tale. The elves looked even more depressed than they already had been. The eldunari too were shocked, and had withdrawn themselves to discuss the matter.

A few minutes later Umaroth spoke. _It was once theorized by the riders that one could open a tunnel through space itself, and reach a destination far more quickly. That could be what happened, though how it did is beyond us. As for the serpent, Valdr may know what it is._

Every being there was silent as Valdr, the oldest eldunari there, came to the forefront of the former dragons' group. He spoke, if it could be called that, in the same way he usually did, through images, impressions, and strange analogies. At first Saphire couldn't understand the convoluted communication Valdr was attempting. But as his story progressed and Umaroth translated, she began to piece together the story.

Long, long ago, before the elves had arrived in Alegaesia, before magic was bound to the Ancient Language, there existed numerous species: the dwarves, the Ra'zac, the Hrud, the Grey Folk, the dragons, and many others. The dragons were feared throughout the land for the destruction they caused. Only the Grey Folk were spared, for they commanded strange and powerful magics. Indeed, they and the dragons were the only ones who could command magic with any degree of safety. Other races had those who could wield magic amongst them, but it was a perilous task for them. Many simply exploded, while others accidently destroyed everything around them. Still others became possessed by malevolent entities, whose origin was never discovered. These individuals would cause terrible damage, and bring forth other abominations. But none was so terrible as the Blood Thirster.

The dwarves, angry at the dragons' depredations and the Grey Folk's arrogance, attempted to summon a champion for them. Listening to the words of their fell priests, they sacrificed thousands of themselves to a god, a god of might and blood. Using this monstrous act and the power of their greatest spell weavers they sent a great summons into the ether. The ether responded by sending the Blood Thirster.

Valdr interrupted his tale to present an image. The creature in the image could only be called a monster. It stood the height of ten and five humans. Wings like those of a dragon's sprouted from its back, shadowing a wolf like head with a mane around its neck. Its body was impossibly muscled, with skin and hair the color of blood. Flecks of blood and gore spotted its sides. It stood on two multi jointed legs ending in hooves. Two giant bull's horns erupted from its head. In its right hand it held a huge battleaxe. In its left it held a whip. The stench of sulfur went before it. Behind it lay nothing but destruction.

The creature the dwarves had summoned went on the worst spree of violence Alagaesia had ever seen. Armies were destroyed, cities were burned, entire species were driven to extinction by the beast's blood lust. Dragons, Grey Folk, Hrud, all were tested by the Blood Spiller and found wanting.

At first the dwarves cheered for their summoned champion. But as time passed and ever more destruction was heaped upon the land they grew to fear the thing they had summoned. They set a trap for the Blood Spiller. It failed, and the Blood Thirster wreaked its revenge on the dwarves so thoroughly their entire country was destroyed. The very land itself was despoiled to the point where it became a lifeless desert.

Eventually Valdr, who had been a dragon elder at the time, convinced his fellow elders that the Blood Thirster had to be stopped. Together with the other elders they set out to stop the Blood Thirster once and for all.

The battle was titanic. Fifteen dragons fought with the dwarves' former champion, in a battle that lasted for days. But not even the dragons could stop the monster. In the end Valdr was the only dragon left standing. It was here, thinking that it was not right for any creature to be so powerful, that he finally felt the inspiration to summon forth magic. A white hot shard flew from his mouth and struck the Blood Thirster. With an agonized scream it disappeared, vaporized by the dragon's magic.

Valdr had just enough time to disgorge his eldunari before his body died. Soon after another dragon found him, and he told him his tale. That was how he came to be known as Valdr, or "Ruler"

After the incident the Grey Folk had gathered their magicians and cast a spell to bind all magic to a spoken language and separate it and the world as much as possible from whatever realm the Blood Thirster had come from.

There was silence after the story. Then Saphira, dreading the answer, asked _You believe that the monster that took Eragon is kin to the Blood Thirster?_

_He does_ Umaroth replied.

_Does he know where he went?_

_No._

Saphira stood where she was, contemplating what she had heard. Her rider was in the hand of a beast that could and, if it had the chance, would end civilizations. He could be killed, or maybe worse.

Saphira shook her head. No. The sulfur-stench-serpent would not kill Eragon. If it had wanted to do that it would have killed him where he stood. Instead, it had taken him away to use for some purpose. This purpose was undoubtedly sinister, but at least Eragon would be kept alive.

Saphira interrupted the silence that had followed her questions with a command. _Scry him_ she said to Blodhgarm.

Blodhgarm knelt by the side of the river and whispered "Draumr Kopa"

A small part of the river turned white as the spell took effect. Saphira watched intently as images of Eragon and the monster started to appear. The monster had Eragon slung under one of its arms and appeared to be in combat. Bolts of light gathered in its palms and shot out at an unseen opponent, who responded with lightening. The monster dodged and sent another flurry at its opponent.

On and on the combat went, until Blodhgarm tired and ended the spell. The fighting faded away along with its white background. As the image finally dispersed completely, Saphira asked _Who was it fighting?_

_I do not know_ Umaroth replied.

Saphira stretched her wings, readying herself to take off.

_Where are you going?_ Umaroth queried.

_To find Eragon_ Saphira replied.

The dragons and elves prostested, saying she was needed to help train the dragon riders. It only gave Saphira pause for a moment. Then she roared, and all fell silent.

_I do not care!_ She bellowed. _I can't and won't do this without Eragon. I will find him._

With that, she spread her wings and took off, ignoring the cries for her to come back. She would find Eragon. She hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Eragon lined up the sights of his weapon and pulled the trigger. A beam of red light lanced out of the end facing away from him towards the target. The air cracked as it was superheated by the beam's passage, and Eragon saw a burn mark appear on the target in front of him. He pulled the trigger several more times, and more lights lanced out. Eventually his weapon ran out of charge and he stopped firing, waiting for the others at the practice range to finish. Soon enough, the range director bellowed the all clear, and Eragon walked forward along with the other soldiers at the range. A few seconds later he was close enough to see the results of his shooting. His objective was a cluster of five targets. All of them had their bull's eyes burnt by Eragon's shooting. Nodding in satisfaction, Eragon proceeded back to the firing posts in the range. He ejected the spent clip from his weapon, slotted a fresh one in, and started firing again.

His induction into the Imperial Guard had not gone smoothly. Sergeant Valentinian, while well intentioned, had made a mistake in introducing him to the general and his staff. The Lord Commissar, whom Eragon had learned had the duty of instilling obedience in the army, had flatly refused to accept Eragon. Worse, everyone on staff seemed to fear him too much to argue with him. Knowing what Eragon knew now he could see why, but at the time the only thing he knew was that the general was afraid of the man.

Valentinian on the other hand, was not impressed by the overdressed man's arguments. The argument escalated quickly, culminating in Valentinian knocking the Lord Commissar out. Even after that however, there was resistance. Only the general's magician, whom Eragon learned was called a primaris psyker, had supported him, vouching for Eragon's experience with the Emperor. After that, he had been reluctantly accepted into the Eris 17th regiment.

Eragon's clothes had been taken from him, and in their place he was given a set of uniforms, most mottled yellow and grey. Along with that he was issued a variety of other equipment, including the light emitting weapon which he now knew to be a lasgun and the spiked weapon called a chainsword.

The chainsword marked him as an oddity amongst the Guardsmen. While normally reserved for officers and priests, Valentinian had impressed upon the general staff the importance of arming this particular guardsman otherwise.

Eragon was glad to have something more than just the bayonet on his lasgun for melee combat, but at the same time he noticed that the chainsword was just one more thing marking him as an oddity. And goodness knew he had enough of that already.

He confused the other guardsmen, that much was clear. Eragon knew that he looked like an Eldar, which apparently was some kind of elf like race that was as fickle as it was mysterious. He also knew by now that the humans of the Imperial Guard hated anything that wasn't human. And yet he also bore the symbol of their Emperor, whom they worshipped as a god. In any case he was treated at arm's length even by his own squadron.

Moodily, Eragon got up and left the range, his lasgun slung over his back. Picking a spot in the open area, he pulled out his chainsword and started practicing.

His defeat at the hands of Captain Sinon had come as a shock. Eragon was determined to never be outmatched again.

Gracefully, he leapt into his imaginary combat, his sword gliding through the air as he pictured himself surrounded by daemonhosts. Eragon stabbed, slashed, and parried, all the while keeping in mind what he had learned about his foes.

Apparently he was being sent into battle against a number of groups called Chaos cults, groups of people who worshipped the Chaos gods. Eragon had gotten little in the way of answers from his squad members about their enemies. Hence, he had turned to the army's priests, who were more than happy to debase and blast their opponents. Much of what they said was ranting blabber, but Eragon had gleaned some useful information from them.

These cults were unfortunately quite common nowadays, fighting against the Emperor and rejecting the tender mercies of the Imperium. Eragon thought it sounded like the propaganda Galbatorix had used against the Varden. However, there were also reports of cults sacrificing others to summon daemons. It was these foul entities that were the enemies of mankind. It was these who sought to topple the Imperium and drag every human to damnation. And it was these beings that the Emperor fought against. Hence, Eragon would fight them, something he was only too willing to do if their descriptions were accurate.

He slashed, ducked, and parried imaginary blows, trying to simulate the fight with Sinon. It was hard, especially since who still knew so little about the Astartes as a whole. He had asked about them, and been told they were the superhuman warriors committed to defending the Imperium. It had been accompanied with praises so grandiose Eragon didn't know what to believe, instead opting to judge them by his own observations. They were strong, fast, and well-intended soldiers who, like the Imperial Guard, did not like him.

A group of ratlings passed by. They were small, pudgy little beings, with weasel-like features. Their slightly distended bellies wobbled slightly as they walked. One of them had a long lasrifle on his shoulder. Eragon eyed them warily as he practiced.

When Eragon had learned of other abhumans in the Imperial Guard he had thought he would at least have some friends. He had been proved wrong in the case of the ratlings. Most of them distanced themselves as much as possible from Eragon. Those who didn't tried to swindle him of the meager possessions he still had or tried to sell mind altering chemicals to him. Eragon had once come perilously close to taking one before another guardsman had rescued him. Since then, he had realized that it would not be wise to alter his mind with chemicals without his ability to heal himself, and he had been wary of the diminutive ratlings ever since.

The ratlings stopped and watched Eragon's sword play. One of them started calling out insults. Eragon didn't understand half of them, but the tone was clear. The others laughed at him, many of them chiming in with other insults. Eragon gritted his teeth. He could easily beat them in a show of strength, but it would not do to start a fight with them.

He was starting to miss the prestige that came with being a dragon rider. People had been distant then as well, but at least they had respected him. Saphira's overbearing presence hadn't hurt either.

Eragon's form stumbled for a bit as he blinked tears out of his eyes, before roughly shoving the thoughts aside and going back to his practice.

A trio of ogryns joined the group watching Eragon. Contrary to the ratlings they were huge, as big as the Astartes, with rippling muscles the size of a Kull's. Their features were flat and brutal, with dim eyes and elongated canines.

One of the ogryns shouted "Hey, pointy ears" Eragon turned around to see an ogryn toss a large fruit at him, goodness knew where he had gotten it.

Eragon grinned at the challenge and thumbed the activation rune on his chainsword. It came to life with a roar as Eragon slashed down and halved the fruit. Another slash later and it fell to the ground in four pieces. The ogryns cheered, and Eragon gave a smile and a salute in reply.

He couldn't help but like the ogryns. They were a friendly lot in spite of their brutal looks. Out of all the diverse groups of the Imperial Guard they were the only ones that had welcomed him. Indeed, it had been an ogryn that had rescued him from his near drug deal. Olaf had been his name, the same Olaf who had lobbed the fruit at him. Ogryns were crude, ugly, and clumsy to be sure. But one couldn't help but like them.

Eragon continued his elaborate sword play until the sun had sunk below the horizon and the only sign of it was the orange and red of the sunset. He sheathed his sword, and started walking to his tent, to the disappointment of the onlookers. They reluctantly parted and left as Eragon tramped away from the practice area, wiping sweat from his forehead.

As he walked, Eragon remembered that he had yet to perform his mental excercises. He didn't know if he had the energy to do them. The last three weeks had been almost unending training and labor. Eragon learned a great many things: how to aim and fire a lasgun, how to use the bayonet on the gun, how to dig trenches, and many other things. Along with his training, which was hard in and of itself, he had to practice not only swordplay but also strengthen his mental discipline.

Right before his induction into the Imperial Guard was finished, he had been pulled aside by none other than Codicier Caesar.

"I am to teach you how to guard your mind at the request of Dreadnought Ullmar" he had said.

"I already know how to" Eragon had replied.

"Not well enough" Caesar said flatly. "Whenever you pull upon the power of the Warp you attract daemons to you. You must be able to fight them off on your own or you will be possessed. Listen…"

Eragon had then been presented with a list of mental exercises designed to increase his willpower and deflect daemonic attack. He had dutifully practiced these every night, but the strain from them quickly grew.

Caesar had also given the admonition to only use his powers in times of desperate need. Until he was properly trained every time he used his powers he took a terrible risk. It depressed Eragon to know that his magic was no longer a reliable weapon he could use.

Eragon stopped as a Leman Russ battle tank moved in front of him. Blue exhaust issued from its back as it clanked and screeched forward. Despite the inherent ugliness of the vehicle Eragon found himself fascinated with the Leman Russ and the other vehicles of the Imperial Guard. It seemed impossible that they performed as they did. Reason told him manmade tools couldn't do it. And yet they did. It almost made Eragon want to become a tech priest so that he could work with and understand these fantastic machines. Almost.

As wonderful as these machines were, their caretakers were nothing if not bizarre. The tech priests and engineseers of the Imperial Guard were, in Eragon's opinion, the strangest beings he had ever met, spirits excepted. Many of them had extra arms made of metal, and faces and implants made of the same. When they spoke to one another it was in a language the likes of which Eragon had never heard. It sounded like prolonged flatulence. It had been all Eragon could do to keep himself from laughing at it.

Yes, as fascinating as the Leman Russ was, Eragon was not sure he could accept the conditions that came with caring for it.

The Leman Russ passed, and Eragon started his journey again, reciting the litany of purity as he did so. It was just one of the many things that he had to practice.

Soon enough he reached the living area of the compound. Row upon row of tents were lined up together, each one home to a squad of guardsmen. Eragon had heard that some of the soldiers further in the city used the old PDF barracks or appropriated housing among the buildings that were still standing. Not here. Here there were too many buildings demolished to house the Guard. Besides, some of the city's more dangerous residents lived here. It was best to isolate the guardsmen from them as much as possible.

Eragon kept walking until he reached his own tent. He walked in and collapsed on his cot. Most of his squad was already there, playing some gambling game. Eragon didn't understand it and frankly didn't have anything to gamble with. Besides, he had never been a gambling man. Garrow, his uncle, had made sure of that.

Most of them ignored Eragon as he walked in. A few glanced up to give him glares. Eragon winced.

Most of his squad didn't actively dislike him. However, three of them did. The twins Jacone and Nels hadn't liked Eragon since the day they first laid eyes on him. Eragon assumed it had to do with him being an Abhuman, which Eragon had figured out to mean anyone who didn't look like a normal human being. Dirk Vermez was another case altogether. From Eragon's observations he was a man who relished in any sort of combat, especially if it was melee combat. It wasn't for nothing that the other sergeant of the squad called him Slasher, a nickname he seemed to relish.

He had challenged Eragon to a knife fight as soon as they met, apparently figuring that no one would miss an Abhuman. Thankfully Commissar Korosov had quickly put an end to it. But since then Eragon had been wary of the man, ever watchful for a knife aimed between his ribs.

The other squad members thankfully did not hold such animosity, instead keeping Eragon at a distance. Everyone except Sanguinis, who treated Eragon almost like some sort of holy object. The son of a priest, Sanguinis was one of two of the squad who wasn't also currently gambling. He was apparently named after a Primarch, one of the Emperor's earliest generals, and he bore the name proudly. He was one of the few who had welcomed Eragon warmly into the team. Even then, there was a distance between them, as if Eragon were an object and not a true person.

The gamblers, who had been sitting in a circle, all leaned back with a roar of dismay as one of their number hooted in exultation before pulling his winnings towards him. The others immediately demanded a rematch. The winner, whom Eragon knew as Carter, lazily accepted and the game began again.

Carter, also called Hotshot by the squad, was a man of supreme confidence. He never turned down a challenge, and somehow seemed to never lose them. Apparently his confidence was matched by his skill, especially at sharpshooting. Eragon personally didn't like him. He seemed, like many others, to hold Eragon as lower in status than even other privates around him. Eragon wasn't alone in the category however. Hotshot's swollen ego took care of that.

Eragon frowned as he watched one of his squad mates play a card. He was big, though not as big as an Ogryn, and had a scar across his cheek. This was Ilan. Eragon knew little about him, other than he was as silent as he was big. He didn't seem to know what to think about Eragon and so dealt with him as little as possible.

The squad looked up as another of their number tramped into the tent and sat in his cot wearily. He had black hair and mismatched eyes, one blue, one grey. This, Eragon knew, was Mortimer, the vox operator of the squad. Called Mort by the others, he was one of the few who treated Eragon as a true equal. Eragon knew him to be straightforward and uncomplicated, and was grateful for that.

Eragon's eyes settled on a balding soldier. This was Orson. Orson was a pessimist that much was clear. He always saw things in the worst possible light. Eragon wondered why a man such as he would gamble, but he didn't dwell on it.

Eragon shifted in his cot, trying to block out the chatter of the others, but a loud laugh ended that attempt. That laugh, he knew, was from the sergeant, a man called Abram Harker. Harker was an energetic man, as optimistic as Orson was pessimistic. He was almost always cheerful, something which endeared him to some squad members but distanced him from others.

All being said, it wasn't the closest of squadrons, and it didn't help that they were all distant from Eragon, some merely seeing him as a boy strutting around in soldier's clothes.

Miserably, Eragon turned over and tried to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

There may have been no sunlight in the underhive but the temperature was still sweltering as Eragon and his squad pushed their way through the crowded street. Locals in unfamiliar clothing pressed around them, staring at them with unfriendly eyes. Many of them came uncomfortably close to Eragon, determined to get a look at this exotic guardsmen. Eragon was tempted to pull his helmet down, but that would obscure the mark on his forehead. And he needed the protection of the mark.

The Emperor had said the mark would protect him from his followers. Eragon hated to think what would have happened to him without the mark.

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. He blinked, about to make a comment to Saphira about the beastly temperature. Then he remembered that Saphira wasn't there.

He was imrpoving at stopping himself from talking to Saphira. However, the instinct to do so was still there, and it strengthened every day. All Eragon wanted to do was to see Saphira, hug her, talk to her, fly with her. But he couldn't. She was back in Alagaesia, and Eragon was on Antares Tertias. Not a day went by when Eragon didn't curse the monster for kidnapping him. Only the Emperor's promise kept him moving forward. If he could truly reunite Eragon with Saphira, then he was prepared to do almost anything for him.

A slight breeze blew through the street, kicking up dust and bits of trash. Eragon wrinkled his nose against the stench the breeze brought.

Sergeant Harker had declared that they were to patrol the "slums" of the city. Looking around, Eragon could see how it had earned such an ugly name. The residents were crowded into small habitation blocks, often multiple families to a block. Trash littered the streets. Piles of refuse were piled in alleyways, infecting the air with their awful smell. All in all, it was a grim place to live.

It was also a dangerous place. Gangers, members of rogue groups that flaunted the law, often made their home here. Eragon had heard tales of the gangers' ferocity and of their underhanded tactics. They would think nothing of using passerby as human shields to deflect the shots of guardsmen, or of shooting their way through a crowd. Other tactics apparently included setting mines, a kind of explosive trap, along the patrol routes that guardsmen used. All in all, they were an ugly, dishonorable enemy, one that Eragon would not feel guilty about fighting.

Eragon's eyes swept the numerous windows and balconies that overlooked the street. Any one of them could be concealing an ambush. It didn't take much imagination to imagine the damage such an ambush could do, especially with the strange weapons this place harbored.

Nor did it help that Eragon wasn't scanning with his mind all the time. He could still exercise his mental powers, but he had found that it attracted the foul entities that had attacked him earlier. The daemons, the Astartes had called them. Eragon was not keen for another encounter with them, but without his mind open he felt blind and vulnerable. He compromised by occasionally scanning the minds around him and then quickly withdrawing to his own mind. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

A rock flew through the air and hit Eragon in the back of the helmet. He spun around, looking for the perpetrator. A group of youths stood nearby leering at them. All of them had bricks and other objects in their hands, ready to throw.

They proceeded to do just that. Eragon was forced to dodge or bat aside a barrage of heavy objects. His defense wasn't perfect. Something collided with his flak armor. Another hit him in the knee. One of them sailed past Eragon and hit Slasher in the back. Slasher immediately turned around, his combat knife out and ready, a snarl on his lips. Having deduced that Eragon was not the perpetrator, he started running at the group of adolescents, who now looked frightened.

"Stop him!" Harker yelled. Ilan and Orson immediately started forward, but Eragon beat them to it, hitting Slasher with a flying tackle that knocked him to the ground. Slasher whipped his knife back, almost skinning Eragon's nose. Ilan and Orson joined him and between them they quickly subdued the enraged Slasher.

By now the youths had scattered, and Slasher sulkily stood before Harker. "You don't fight until I say so, got that!" Harker was shouting.

Slasher snarled back "The little pukes were asking for it!"

"Look, maybe back on Eris you could have gotten away with that, with whatever gang you were in, but now you're under me, and we don't fight kids"

Slasher gritted his teeth mutinously but stayed silent. Harker signaled to the other guardsmen to let him go. They did so, and all of them fell back into line as the patrol resumed. Eragon saw Dirk shoot a dark glare at him, but other than that the incident was over.

The procession continued through the street to a small market. Harker led the way, pushing through the crowd and trying to make up for it with friendly grins and passing jokes. Eragon watched him enviously, wishing he had the easy manner Harker had. And he could certainly do without the prejudice that his appearance attracted.

This particular market was much like the ones he had seen in cities such as Dras Leona and Tierm. Vendors stood behind stalls, selling all sorts of goods. A few Eragon recognized but many were beyond his knowledge. Buyers stood all around, haggling with the salesmen or walking away from a bad deal. Others simply stood around and watched the business going on, shooting wary looks at the guardsmen. People talked. Children screamed. Noise was everywhere. And behind the stalls Eragon caught glimpses of background deals going on, black market traders selling shady wares.

As they passed through the end of the market, Eragon opened his mind again and cautiously expanded his perception. Most of the minds he felt were harmless, and moved on after a brief glance into each. As he continued his scan however, he found some minds that were not engaged in trade, but rather were focused on the procession of guardsmen.

Eragon continued forward as he focused on one of the minds he had just detected. They were in one of the buildings close to the market. And they were all armed.

Eragon stopped. "Sergeant!" he called. He got no further as he felt a rush of killer intent from one of the ambushers. There was nothing to do but take action. Eragon reached into the mind and briefly seized control. The man fought fearfully, and as they wrestled he pulled the trigger of his gun.

The roar of the auto gun filled the air as the ganger fired it into the air. Eragon, sensing a signal had been given, immediately backed out of the man's mind and retreated to his own. He and his squad mates dove for cover as the air was suddenly filled with the roar of auto weaponry going off.

Eragon ran behind a stall with Slasher, sheltering as a hail of projectiles crashed into their cover. The stall shuddered under the multiple impacts but held together. Eragon brought his lasgun up and returned fire. Red light lanced through the air, and Eragon heard a shriek of pain as the beam collided with one of the attackers. He looked up to see a man clutching a cauterized stump where his arm used to be. A bullet whistled past his ear and Eragon pulled his head down.

A sound like a dragon breathing fire filled the air. Eragon saw Ilan using his flamer on the building, bathing the front in layers of promethium. Some the firing cut off as the guns' owners were caught in the burning stream. Eragon heard yells of pain, and a burning figure toppled out of one of the windows. The others however, kept shooting.

Eragon risked another look, and immediately ducked as one of the attackers shot at him. He snarled to himself. Without his wards he felt too exposed to make a frontal assault. The best thing to do, he thought, was to use magic, or to psyk as Caesar put it. But if he did, that risked daemonic assault. Then it occurred to him. The building was still in flames, and they were growing as they consumed the building. Fewer and fewer shots rang out over the roar of the flames. With a crash, part of the front of the building collapsed, exposing the fleeing gangers. One of them was on the ground flailing as flames consumed his body. Eragon wanted to turn away from the grisly sight but knew it would blind him to the combat. And on this battlefield, to do that was suicide.

"They'll be coming out the front door!" Harker shouted above the flames. It was probably true, seeing as the flamer had left the bottom level relatively untouched. Eragon sighted in on the door, ready to fire. Soon enough, their adversaries came running out the door, desperate to escape the burning building. Eragon recognized the gaudy hair and the torn clothing they sported as similar to Rizo and his ilk. His eye already along the sights, he pulled the trigger. More red beams jumped from his and his comrades' guns and hit the enemy, burning through flesh and filling the air with the stench of charred meat. With wailing and shrieking they were cut down.

They immediately tried to back up and seek shelter, but the press of their comrades was too much, and they were forced further onto the street and into the guardsmen's kill zone.

The firing continued until all of their enemies were dead or fled. For a moment, there was silence. Then Eragon and his squad cautiously began to emerge from their cover. Slasher cursed, and he wasn't the only one doing so.

"Idiot gangers" Harker muttered as he nudged one of the corpses.

"Alright, sound off!" Harker shouted, but before he could start a figure darted from the open doorway and sprinted down the road away from the guardsmen. His orange hair betrayed his ganger status.

"After him!" Harker shouted. The guardsmen all abandoned their positions and took off in hot pursuit of the ganger. Eragon briefly wondered if he should use his elven speed, but stopped himself. There was no need to increase the distance between himself and his squad mates by sowing his superhuman abilities. Besides, with ten men after him, they couldn't fail to capture the ganger.

They all ran, shoving locals out of their way as they tried to catch up with their target. Eragon heard more gunfire, and anger flooded through him as he realized the ganger was trying to shoot his way clear. He tried to bring his gun up, but there were too many people between him and the ganger. He reached out with his mind, but stopped as he heard the familiar voices of the daemons start to rise in volume. They made a brief attack before Eragon forced them out. He ceased his efforts, deciding it was not prudent to tempt the daemons any more than they already were.

Eragon realized he had stopped running in his efforts to combat the daemons, and he cursed as he redoubled his efforts to catch up with the fleeing ganger.

The ganger, still not having lost his pursuers, ran to a door, opening it before going inside and slamming it shut. Sanguinis was the first to reach it and tried to open it. The door was locked.

Sanguinis waited for the rest of the squad to catch up before pulling back and tackling the door. It came down with a crash, trapping the ganger under it. He fought, trying to draw his auto pistol, until Slasher finished him off with blow to the temple.

"Alright" panted Harker. "Now we sound off"

Eragon sounded off with the others, and then took a look at the building they were in.

It appeared to be some sort of warehouse, with crates stacked in rows everywhere. One of them had the lid thrown off. Curious, Eragon, walked over and looked inside it. Nestled with some kind of foam like substance, he saw a row of autoguns, with some missing from the row.

"Sergeant!" he shouted. Harker turned around.

"What is it, ab…Bromsson" he asked, in a voice that suggested he would not find whatever he had to say important.

Eragon gritted his teeth a little before voicing his thoughts. "I think this is their arsenal. Take a look at this"

Harker loped over. He glanced at the weapons in the crate, did a double take, and inspected them more closely.

Eragon watched as Harker thought, then said "Jels, Orson, Hotshot, cover the entrances. The rest of you, search the crates"

They did as they were told, snatching up bars with a curve at the end. Each of them chose a crate, pushed the curved end of their bars in, and levered the top off. Grabbing a bar, he selected a random crate and mimicked his comrades. Yanking the loosened top of the box away, he looked in and saw a heavy bolter lying there.

"Got some rations here" Mort shouted.

"Lasguns here" Sanguinis called.

"Unbegakkinglievable" swore Slasher. "They've got fething carapace armor"

That got Harker's attention. He jogged over.

"Unbelievable" he said, lifting a piece of the superior armor. He turned to Mortimer and said "Vox command. They should know about this"

As Mortimer turned away and started speaking to the lieutenant, Harker turned to see Eragon experimentally hefting the heavy bolter. He whistled.

"How are you doing that?" he asked

Eragon started, then looked at the weapon in his hands. It was incredibly heavy for a regular man he knew, but with his own strength he could lift it easily. Perhaps he was being too ostentatious with his strength.

He hurriedly set the weapon back and was trying to think of something to say when Hotshot yelled "Contacts!"

They all turned to see a door fly open and a group of figures in carapace armor run in. They were all armed with chainswords, and each one of them was held high.

Eragon brought his lasgun up and depressed the trigger. Red light lanced into one of the targets. He stumbled, but kept moving forward. Eragon's eyes widened. Not even his own flak armor could stand up to a lasgun shot. How had they gotten their superior armor he didn't know, unless it was sold to them by someone in the guard…

Eragon cursed whatever entrepreneurial ratling had sold these thugs their armor and flicked his gun to full auto. He pumped the trigger, and a stream of lights shot out. His target jerked backward as the barrage hit him, but his armor held in spite of it. Eragon cursed again, then watched as a lasbeam hit his target in the knee. The man crumpled in pain, before another shot broke through his visor and went through his eyes. Eragon didn't have to look to see who had made the shot. It was probably Hotshot, deadeye that he was.

By now the whole area was bathed in flashes of light as the cracks of lasguns going off filled the air. The armored gangers shrugged off most of the barrage leveled at them, but one fell, shredded by Nels and Jacone's heavy bolter. That gave the gangers pause, before their leader spurred them on.

Eragon, noting the effects of the heavy bolter, grabbed the one from the crate and fired. Or tried to. He swore as he realized it wasn't loaded and then dropped the useless weapon. He looked up at the fight.

By now the armored gangers were getting dangerously close to Eragon's squad mates. Eragon knew there was no way their flak armor would hold up to their enemies' chainswords, and he realized he would have to act, and fast.

"Fix bayonets!" Harker shouted. There was a lull in the shooting as the squad did so, and Eragon seized the opportunity. With a warcry he drew his chainsword, activated it, and surged forward, decapitating the ganger nearest to him. He then placed himself between his squad and the oncoming enemy.

Harker had just enough time to protest before the enemy was upon Eragon.

He parried a blow aimed for his head, then swung at the man's abdomen. His chainsword screeched as it bit into the carapace armor. Under the full force of Eragon's swing it made it all the way through, and the man's torso fell from his legs.

Another ganger made his way forward while Eragon was still engaged with the first blow. Having no other alternative he punched the man in the chest. There was an audible cracking noise as the carapace armor caved in under the force of the blow. The man was lifted and thrown into a pile of crates, his ribs completely caved in.

Eragon turned, his chainsword whirring. There were five of the armored gangers left, all of whom were approaching more warily now. They looked at one another, waiting for one of them to go first. Eragon made the decision for them, charging forward and impaling the nearest one on his sword.

The four remaining gangers rushed him, trying to overwhelm him. Eragon pulled his sword out and swept the legs out from the first. The second was bisected by an upwards blow from the fork of his legs up. As he collapsed, the third and fourth came upon him, howling like a pack of wolves. Eragon dealt with them by decapitating both of them in one blow. He turned to see the first one was just getting up. He quickly fell down again as Eragon speared him through the chest.

The last of his enemies dealt with, Eragon turned to see his squadron all staring at him, open mouthed. Slasher swore.

"Behold, he whom the Emperor has marked" Sanguinis said happily.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

"You're joking, right?" Slasher was saying. "Tell me it's a joke"

"It's not a joke" Harker said wearily. "We're going into the sewers"

Eragon wrinkled his nose. This would probably be one of the foulest assignments he had ever had. Hopefully though, it wouldn't be as bad as scrubbing out the ogryns' latrines, which he had done twice. Yes, Eragon did have some experience in the matter of sewage, and he was not looking forward to more.

Looking at his squad mates however, he saw that their faces had gone pale and their knuckles had tightened. Sanguinis reached for the aquila that he wore on a necklace and muttered a short prayer. Eragon caught enough of it to know that his squad was very afraid of whatever was lurking down there.

Nels and Jacone sent a glare at Eragon. That was no surprise in itself, but the sheer rancor held in the gaze startled him. They seemed to be blaming him for their assignment in the sewers. This was confirmed when Nels said "Of course we get this. We got him" he said, jerking his finger at Eragon. Eragon would have snarled a reply if it weren't probably true.

Sometimes Eragon swore that the mark on his forehead gave none of the protection the Emperor had promised.

"No, we didn't" Harker corrected. "We got it cause we've been doing too good of a job"

"So since we don't get picked off by the gangers, cultists, and xenos we get sent to certain death" Jacone said in disgust. Most of the squad muttered their agreement to the thought.

"If we do die, it will be in His cause" a voice said. Every man in the tent stood up as Commissar Korosov stepped into the tent. Eragon wasn't surprised. Korosov seemed to have an almost preternatural sense of when a soldier was misbehaving or needed "encouragement"

"Think not of your deaths but instead what you will accomplish before then" the commissar continued. "We go as one of seven groups, to discover whatever enemy has been taking our comrades. Stand firm, follow my lead, and we may yet render service unto Him"

As the commissar continued his speech Eragon pondered his words while making sure to catch the rest of the speech. So groups had been disappearing. That could mean an ambush, possibly multiple ambushes. But then there was the fact that after who knew how many patrols they still didn't they know what they were facing. Surely they could have voxed a distress call at the very least, unless they were cut down too quickly to vox a message.

Reaching that chilling conclusion Eragon resolved to strengthen his mental defenses that night. He would need them for his scans tomorrow.

"Rest now" Korosov was saying. "That you may be at your best tomorrow"

A bead of sweat rolled down his face as Eragon faced the sewer entrance apprehensively. The temperature in the underhive was as awful as ever, and the fact that he was about to plunge into a possible ambush didn't help either.

He glanced down as his equipment. His squad had been given rubber boots and illuminators. That was it. No carapace armor, no specialized equipment of any sort. It was another mark in a trend Eragon was beginning to recognize. In the Guard, everyone was expendable.

The difference between Eragon himself and the rest of his squad, aside from his chainsword, was the heavy bolter he now cradled in his arms. Ever since Harker had found out about Eragon's strength he had somehow acquired a heavy bolter and foisted it upon Eragon, who found he didn't like the weapon one bit. It was heavy, large, and awkward to carry. Its recoil was ferocious. Eragon could manage it of course, but he would never be as precise as he had been with a lasgun. The fact that he had bruised his shoulder firing the thing didn't help either.

It also seemed to create a rivalry with the twins, the team's heavy bolter crew. As if they needed another reason to hate Eragon.

The assembled men around him were pale and sweating as well. They were afraid, Eragon knew. Afraid of what was waiting for them in the sewers. Only the commissars were unaffected, loudly proclaiming that whatever was down in the sewers would be found and killed. Eragon wondered just how much the commissars themselves believed in what they were saying.

Two guardsmen grunted as they pulled on a wheel shaped seal to the door. With a loud grating noise it turned, and the large door swung open. With many a nervous look the first squadron started into the pipe. Eragon watched them go, watched as they flicked their illuminators on and frantically started panning them across the walls of the sewers.

The second squadron started forward. Eragon watched them leave for a moment, then turned to look at his own squad. They were all trying to hide their fear from Korosov, but their excessive sweating and pale faces betrayed them. Only Slasher and Korosov himself looked unafraid.

The signal was given, and Eragon started forward.

The smell that hit Eragon as they crossed the threshold wasn't as bad as he was expecting. It was still foul, but it definitely was not as foul as the ogryn latrines. Eragon supposed that since most of the…stuff had already decayed to a degree it didn't smell that bad. That and most of it wasn't from ogryns.

They progressed further down the pipe, Korosov in front. Eragon's eyes were flickering all around in the darkness. He could see quite fine due to his enhanced sight, but he was still nervous. Something had killed patrols of guardsmen without so much as a whisper to their regiment. Perhaps it was nothing, Eragon reassured himself. Perhaps they had merely gotten lost. That still did not explain the lack of vox communication, and was further debunked when Eragon saw an arrow scratched into the wall. Some thoughtful guardsman from a previous patrol had marked a way home for them. Assuming they did this throughout their journey there was almost no way to get lost.

Harker stopped when he saw the marking on the wall. He looked at it, then glanced at Commissar Korosov, who had also spotted the markings. The commissar nodded, giving his permission to do the same. Eragon breathed a sigh of relief. The commissar may have been stricter than Brom, but like Brom he was no fool.

Harker nodded back, then continued forward. Further down the tunnel they were coming to their first branch. Eragon saw another of the marks pointing to the way out on the left branch. On the right branch there was no marking at all. Harker stopped and leaned in toward Korosov. They held a whispered conversation, then appeared to reach an agreement and started right. Harker stopped, and used his bayonet to carve an arrow in the wall. He then walked forward again.

Onward they went. It got darker and darker to the point where even Eragon's sight was limited to their illuminators' beams. The splashes their footsteps made echoed up and down the tunnel as they trudged through the shallow water. Many times they came across smaller tunnels leading away from the main one, and were forced to explore these until they came to the inevitable dead end of a grate. They would then backtrack to the main tunnel and continue on.

"Why do we even bother?" Orson muttered to Slasher, who agreed quietly.

They came to another branch in the main tunnel. This time they went left, Harker being careful to scratch an arrow into the side. As they continued down the tunnel a particularly rancid smell hit them. Eragon almost vomited from the sheer repulsiveness of the stench. Many of his squad mates looked nauseous as well.

"Throne, what is that?" Orson asked, breaking the silence that had come over them.

"I think…I think it's rendered fat" the normally silent Ilan said, surprising them all.

"Fat?" Hotshot asked.

Ilan nodded and then, remembering that no one could see the gesture, said "Yep"

They continued forwards until they came across a large, lumpy wall of white that blocked them off. The smell had only worsened until then, and Eragon now saw that the wall was the source.

"That is gakking disgusting" Slasher said, almost retching.

"Move it" Korosov commanded.

Only the thought of Saphira made Eragon press his hands against the wall of fat and push. But even with the other guardsmen helping, the wall refused to move.

"Fine" said Korosov, conceding defeat. "Turn around. We'll head the other way". The squadron turned around and headed back the way they came.

On and on they went, plunging deeper into the labyrinth. It surprised Eragon how many trinkets and personal affects they encountered. Clothes, toys, weapons and more were found somewhere in the water running past their boots. At one point they even came a across a grenade. Thankfully the pin was still in. Still, Eragon made sure to give it a wide berth.

Then they found the bodies.

There were ten of them strewn across the tunnel. All looked like they had died in savage melee combat. Many of them were gruesomely disfigured by the blows they had sustained. And some were sporting strange boils on their skin the size of a sword pommel.

All wore the uniform of the 17th Eris regiment of the Imperial Guard.

"Vox command" Harker ordered. "Tell them we found one of the patrols"

Mortimer started speaking into the vox caster. "Command, this is the 74th squad. We have found the bodies of one of the patrols"

All that he received in reply was static.

"Command, do you copy?" Mortimer asked.

Again, the only reply was static.

"Something's wrong" Mortimer said. "I'm not getting a reply"

"You don't say" Slasher said sarcastically.

"Can it" Harker ordered. He turned to Mortimer and said "We are underground. Could that be doing it?"

Mortimer shook his head. "No. It's not that. At a guess, I'd say either command isn't listening, or we're being jammed.

Silence proceeded that last statement. Harker then said "We need to get out of here"

"No" Korosov interjected. They all looked at him, incredulous but afraid to voice their opinions.

"We continue on and see if we can find any more bodies" the commissar continued.

Still incredulous, the squadron started out again, this time even more wary. The news that they were being jammed was particularly startling to Eragon. Vox casters had seemed like the ultimate means of communication, a nonmagical way of broadcasting one's thoughts. He had no idea that it could be blocked. This made him all the more nervous about what awaited them in the depths of the sewers.

They continued on, illuminator beams sweeping everywhere, looking for any possible threat. Eragon's mind was expanded, scanning for any minds outside of his squad's. The whispers of the daemons started in his mind, but Eragon couldn't resist the urge to scan with his mind. Down here in the impenetrable darkness especially, he felt blind without it.

He stiffened as he came across a group of minds. Their thoughts were strange and warped. All of them felt pain to some degree. But the one thing in common amongst them all was that they were waiting. Waiting for their prey to come nearer.

Eragon halted and called out "Wait". The squad stopped, then continued onward as Korosov did so. "Wait" Eragon tried again. "There's an ambush ahead".

That got their attention he saw. They all stopped, even Korosov, and turned around to face him.

"You know this how?" Korosov demanded.

"I can feel their minds" Eragon said.

This appeared to shock them all, and Korosov's hand started gripping the handle of his bolt pistol, then stopped. Eragon wondered if he had made a mistake. He was aware of his status as an unsanctioned psyker, but he had hoped that the mark and the Ultramarines would protect him from the wrath of the commissars and others.

Before they could act on this revelation they heard an unearthly moan. They all whirled in the direction of the sound to see a group of figures shambling towards them. Eragon's breath caught at the sight of them. They were barely recognizable as human. Indeed, Eragon wondered if they ever were human, so hideously disfigured were they. Their flesh was mottled sickly white, fever red, and a putrid purple color that was nauseating just to look at. They were covered in huge boils that oozed pus. Their bellies were distended, and their limbs were swollen to a grotesque size. The skin on their faces was sagging, hanging loosely from their skulls. A foul stench proceeded them, the stench of death itself. A few of them wore the remnants of Imperial Guard uniforms. All of them had the eight pointed star of Chaos somewhere on their bodies.

"Throne" Korosov whispered, before roaring "Fire!" The tunnel lit up as lasguns and heavy bolters cracked and roared, their shots impacting the oncoming…things. Eragon looked down the sights of his gun and pulled the trigger. The heavy bolter bucked and roared as a meter long flame issued out of it, its inch wide shots flying towards their target. Eragon watched as they impacted on the thing in front of him. The bolts should have torn the wretch in half, but they didn't. In fact, it seemed to find a perverse pleasure in the bolts ripping into its flesh, only stopping when a bolt crashed into its skull and pulverized it.

Eragon spared a second to see how the rest of his squad was faring. Their results were similar. Lasguns burned holes into the infecteds' disgusting flesh, bolts blew craters out of them and sparyed fluid and viscera. But the things kept coming. Some were giggling or even laughing as the shots connected with them. With a start of horror, Eragon was reminded of the soldiers who felt no pain that Galbatorix had created, except those had never been so hideously distorted as these.

Only Hotshot was killing with any reliability, many times drilling a lasbolt through the skulls of his opponents.

Eragon again sighted down the heavy bolter's sights, wishing that Ilan had brought his flamer with them. But with the limited air supply available in the sewers he had decided to leave it.

Apparently the distorted things in attacking them had no such compunctions, and Eragon watched in horror as one of them leveled a rusted flamer at the squad. He swiveled his aim and fired, the shot hitting the infected man's head. It fell, well and truly dead.

By now there were only a few of the things left. By focusing on each one in turn, the guardsmen managed to bring them down before the infected reached them.

Eragon sighed in relief as the last of them fell, its body mangled by the fire that had assailed it. The rest of the squadron looked relieved too. Their faces were pale, their breathing heavy. The silence that followed after the roar of their guns and the moaning of their adversaries was oddly relieving.

Only Korosov still looked alert. He turned to Eragon and said "You, psyker, are there any more coming?" The squadron stiffened. Eragon frowned, and extended his mind outward. To his very great dismay he found a number of minds heading straight for them. There felt like roughly a hundred of them. Worse, a few amongst them felt different. They were ancient minds, millennia old, which burned with a surpassing hatred against the Imperium and all that it stood for. These minds were also aware of Eragon's intrusion, and they immediately slammed up walls of formidable strength around their minds.

Eragon withdrew to his own mind, disturbed by what he felt. "Yes, there are more coming" Eragon replied. His companions' faces fell as they heard this news.

"How many" Korosov demanded.

"About a hundred" Eragon said.

Even Korosov paled at that. He appeared to consider something, then said "Retreat"

The surprised but grateful squad immediately proceeded to do just that, turning around and running in the opposite direction.

"Try to call command again" Harker shouted as they ran. Mort started yelling into the vox caster "Command, command, this is the 74th squad. We have met contacts, Chaos cultists. We need reinforcements now!" Nothing but static greeted him from the vox. "We're still jammed!" Mort said, panting now.

"This way!" Harker shouted, going down a tunnel to the left. They all followed him down the tunnel until they hit a grate in the middle of the tunnel.

"Oh great, nice going" Slasher snarled.

"Stow it" Korosov ordered, "And prepare to sell your lives dearly"

They all set up defensive positions with what minimal cover they had, except for Eragon, who approached the grate and proceeded to wrench the ancient thing from its mount. With a grunt of exertion he tore it free and flung it aside. He then turned to his squadmates, who were speechless. Korosov was predictably the first to recover. He roared "Forward!" and ran through the tunnel where the grate had been. The others followed, then stopped when Korosov did also. Spinning around, he grabbed Hotshot's lasgun and welded the grate back into place, this time with the squad behind it.

"That should hold them" Korosov panted.

Soon the rumbling footsteps of the horde of infected were heard as the cultists drew nearer. Eragon thought about using his elven speed to run away, but he couldn't abandon his comrades. Besides, there was always the possibility that they had autoguns.

The rumbling drew closer, then stopped. Except for a set of heavier steps, which drew even closer. Around the bend in the tunnel came two armored behemoths, chainswords in their left hands, bolt pistols in their right.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Saphira lay in her bedding, waiting impatiently. Sometimes she wished she could fit into the smaller buildings of the two legged races without causing them extensive damage, but only rarely. She would normally not think about it, indeed she would revel in her size and magnificence. But not tonight. Tonight she couldn't access the elves' library. And that was what she needed above all else.

Saphira had flown for days after leaving the _Talita_ back to Alagaesia, desperate for any help. To say the friends she had felt behind were surprised was an understatement. They were equally surprised and discouraged when Saphira related her tale to them. But to Saphira's dismay, none of them knew what had happened to him. Jeod had been mystified, as had all of Nasuada's retinue. None among Orik's clan knew what had happened, although his priest from Durgrimst Quan had postulated that the beast was an enemy of Guntera or Sindri, and had stolen Eragon for that reason. Saphira would have laughed at the proposition had she not seen what had happened that fateful night.

As it was, the dwarves had no definite answer for her either. The elves had failed for the most part, as bemused by the story as any of the others. Saphira had even sought wisdom amongst the Urgals. Aside from a myth with a disturbing similarity to that of the Blood Thirster's tale, there had been no answers there either.

Disheartened, Saphira had flown back to Ellesmera, capitol of the elves. And here she was now, waiting for one of the elves' scholars to come to her. She tapped a claw impatiently, then tried to distract herself by looking about the room. It was not a successful endeavor. It was just as it had been last she had been here. Same bowl in the bedroom for her to rest in, same bed that faced the window out to the forest, same view of the forest. Saphira snorted, then stilled as she heard the trap door in the vestibule beyond the bedroom door open.

_Finally_ she thought as the screen door opened and Illaya walked in. Her silver hair was shoulder length, her face as flawless as the rest of the pointy-ears-two-legs. She wore a rustic green tunic and brown pants along with her vest of office, colored black with gold stripes crossing the front.

Illaya was a librarian who had said she had some knowledge of the Grey Folk and had volunteered her time to investigate them further. She was a magician as well as a scholar, though a minor magician to be sure. She had never set foot on a field of war. Saphira didn't care at the moment. All she cared about was what she had found about Eragon's fate.

She looked at Illaya again and saw a mirror tucked under her right arm. To her left stood a person who looked like a feral human child, with shaggy hair, red eyes, and fangs that gleamed in the night. Beside him walked a short woman with curly brown hair. Angela the Herbalist strode into the room and said "Now why am I the last to know that Eragon has been kidnapped?"

Saphira looked at her in surprise, then remembered that Eragon had heard Angela say that she was going to the elves to avoid Nasuada's regime on magic.

_I am sorry_ she said, hoping that the odd herbalist had some answer to her problem. _Do you know what has happened to Eragon?_ She asked desperately.

"Of course not" Angela said, sitting down on the bed. "You haven't told me"

Saphira again told the tale of the sulfur-stench-serpent's attack, her heart giving a pang as she recited it. When she finished, she looked at Angela, who appeared to be surprised. Surprised and worried.

"Not good" she muttered.

_Do you know where he is?_ Saphira asked.

"No, I don't" Angela said. "What I do know is that a creature like the one that attacked you, a daemon, should not have been able to enter this world"

_ A daemon? What is that?_

Angela appeared to consider something, then said "Very well. A daemon is a being from the Warp, a realm that lies parallel to our own. It is chaos in its very essence. Whereas our universe is order, the Warp is disorder.

"The Warp is also what truly fuels magic. Even after the enchantments the Grey Folk, or Exodites as they were also known, placed it is the Warp that truly provides magic, from the weakest magician to your own Saphira"

Saphira would normally have had her world upended by such revelations. Judging from the look on Illaya's face, hers had been. But Saphira was interested in one thing: Eragon.

_What would a daemon want with Eragon?_ She asked.

Angela's face darkened. "I'm sorry Saphira, but if a daemon has taken Eragon it can only be to use him. If it didn't kill him then it will have some purpose for him. A sacrifice maybe, or perhaps it will corrupt him to its cause"

Saphira wasn't worried about corruption. Eragon was one of the least corruptible people she knew. What did have her attention was the possibility that he would be sacrificed.

_Sacrificed!_ Saphira yelled mentally.

"No, corruption is what that daemon had in mind" Angela said darkly. "It could sacrifice anyone it wanted, but to come all the way here it must have known about Eragon and desired him, maybe for a champion"

Saphira snorted, relieved for the moment. _What will it do when it finds it can't corrupt Eragon?_

"It will corrupt him. I'm sorry, but it will. It may take time and much effort, but if Eragon doesn't escape then that thing will eventually bend him to its will"

Saphira looked at the woman facing her. A thought occurred to her. _How do you know this?_

Angela gave a smile. "Spoilers" was all she said.

Saphira was about to question further, but realized that all Angela would do was give her another equally cryptic answer. In her current mood, however, she felt liable to attack Angela mentally. Only their friendship and Eragon's memories of Angela's mental prowess stopped her. Suppressing the urge, she asked hopefully _Do you know how to use the arch that the daemon used?_

Angela shook her head, her curls swaying with the movement. "No, I don't. I'm sorry Saphira"

Saphira looked down, her newfound hope ebbing. Illaya walked forward and said "Brightscales, if you wish, I could scry your rider. I found an improved scrying spell that should allow us to see his surroundings as well as himself, but I will need your strength as well as mine to use it"

Saphira's gaze fixed on the elf. _Do it_ she said.

Illaya removed the mirror from under her arm and propped it against the wall. She recited the spell of scrying. The mirror turned white, then darkened as details began to etch themselves across the pane. Saphira, Angela, Solembum, and Illaya all leaned in.

Like the others, Eragon's heavy bolter was right up against the grate, ready to fire through it. His breathing was steady as he looked through the grate, but it began to quicken as he began to make out details of the two behemoths approaching him and his squad.

They were huge. They looked even bigger than ogryns, with their puffed, diseased flesh. They were a little like space marines. With a start, Eragon realized that these things were Astartes, but even more diseased than their smaller counterparts which they had encountered. Their armor was pitted and rusted, as were their bolt pistols and their chainswords. Folds of sickening flesh pushed out from between the crevices in their armor. Some folds appeared to have actually cracked the armor open and pushed through it in places. Their flesh was colored a rainbow of disgusting colors, especially on their exposed heads. Their features were horrifically distorted by boils, swellings, wounds, and other terrible symptoms.

Though their armor was ravaged, Eragon could still make out malefic sigils that seemed to swirl and distort sickeningly. Twice Eragon swore he could make out screaming faces that bubbled up from the armor. His mind extended forward, propelled by a morbid curiosity. To his horror, he found minds that had been ensnared in the armor, minds that snarled and hissed at his intrusion. Their thoughts were of nothing but spreading plague and mutation amongst men. Eragon's primal instinct rebelled at their very presence, and he instinctively knew that nothing good would ever come of these revolting beings.

Eragon retreated to his own mind and mashed the trigger on his heavy bolter, praying that the weapon would be enough to stop the abominations in front of him. Around him, his squad followed his example and opened fire. The tunnel flashed with the light of las shots and bolter fire. Eragon traced the shots to the figures that were rapidly closing with them. To his dismay the fire seemed to barely affect the charging abominations. Even Hotshot's head shots weren't stopping them.

The diseased Astartes barreled forward, heedless of the barrage leveled at them. It was terrifying the way they seemed to soak up fire with nary a stumble. Even as the bolts penetrated their armor and detonated inside of them they still continued their rush. The one in front raised its fist, and Eragon realized in intended to punch the grate down.

Korosov apparently had the same thought. "Back" he shouted. "Back!" Some of the squad did more than that. They turned and ran, throwing down their weapons and sprinting away. Korosov cursed and turned to fire on them, but was interrupted as the Astartes in front punched the grate down. It was smashed from its welded mountings and sent spinning forward, clipping Harker in the shoulder. He dropped his gun with a cry and fell, clutching his shoulder. Dirk stepped forward and slashed his knife across the diseased thing's neck. Its reply was to grab Dirk's head and crush it in its hand. Dirk's headless corpse dropped. Two more of the squad tried to run, but were gunned down by the Astartes' bolt pistols.

At such close range Eragon didn't need to worry about accuracy. He held the heavy bolter in one hand and drew his chainsword with the other. He held the trigger down, thumbing the activation rune on his sword, and watched as the roaring bolter punched through the front marine's armor.

The armor was holed by the impacts, but other than that all it did was to turn the attention of both the abominations to Eragon. Silently they turned to him, disgusting liquids running down their armor, eyes burning with rage at this guardsman who dared attack them. They started forward, chainswords held high. Eragon deflected one of the blows with his own chainword and dodged the other one. He swept the heavy bolter across one of the marines while slashing across the stomach of the other. Both of these actions only infuriated the infected marines even more. One of them actually grabbed Eragon's heavy bolter and ripped it from his hands. Eragon's response was to sweep his sword up and sheer off a part of the thing's head, exposing its brains.

This was all Korosov needed. He lunged forward, tackling the marine. The space marine staggered back, and Korosov used its distraction to point his bolt pistol at the thing's head and fire. The creature fell back, finally dead.

The second one used Eragon's distraction to pin Eragon against the wall of the tunnel. It snarled, enraged that so puny a man had aggrieved it to this point. Eragon struck helplessly with his chainsword, scoring wounds that would have killed an ordinary man a dozen times over. But the infected thing in front of him was no ordinary man. Reveling in its victory, its own arm went back, ready to deliver a killing blow. Eragon, desperate, reached out with his sword hand and shouted "Thrysta!"

A wave of force exploded out from his hand and impacted on the diseased thing in front of him. It staggered back, the expression on its face one of surprise. Eragon further breached the barrier in his mind. Concentrating, he gripped the thing in front of him magically and pulled. The thing's armor and flesh resisted, and Eragon was forced to pull more energy out of his mind. The voices of the daemons howled and shrieked in his mind, and his vision started to blur. Still he persisted, and the thing in front of him was finally torn in half.

Eragon collapsed, fighting a desperate battle within his mind to expel the daemons that sought to possess him. He snarled mentally. He was not about to lose his body to these things after so narrowly avoiding death. Reciting the Litany of Purity, he finally managed to drive them shrieking back to their realm.

After the expulsion, Eragon opened his eyes. The first thing that he noticed was the pain in his eyes. He wiped them, then looked at his hands. With a start he saw blood on them, and he realized that he was crying blood. He blinked the drops out of his eyes and saw Korosov watching him warily, bolt pistol in hand.

Eragon got up from where he had fallen. He looked over to where his heavy bolter had fallen, on the other side of the tunnel. He moved over to pick it up, all the time watching Korosov. Korosov seemed to be deciding whether or not to shoot Eragon. Eragon extended his mind, ready to defend himself, then relaxed in relief as he saw the commissar holster his weapon. Eragon picked up his gun and looked around. Korosov was the only one still standing. The rest of the squad was dead or had fled.

"What do we do now?" Eragon asked. Korosov was about to speak when they heard a chorus of wailing war cries. Eragon turned and saw a mob of infected rushing at them. They were still far away, but shots rang out as they fired autoguns at them.

Korosov's reply was "Run!" They turned and ran as shots whizzed past. Considering they were running, their opponents' shots were none too accurate. Still, the sheer volume of fire was worrying. Sooner or later one of them would hit.

Korosov and Eragon continued their mad dash, desperately hoping that they wouldn't be hit from behind. Ahead, they could see a ledge where the water rolled off in a cascade. They stopped, panting.

_Now what?_ Eragon thought. Korosov growled in frustration. He looked back at the rushing infected, then at the waterfall. "Jump" he said.

"What?" Eragon yelled.

"Jump or I will shoot you myself!" Korosov roared.

Eragon looked at the waterfall, then jumped.

_Eragon! No!_

Saphira couldn't believe it. Eragon, her partner-of-heart-and-mind, had jumped. Now she could only hope that the water below was deep enough to protect Eragon from the fall.

Her limbs were shaking now from the exertion of the spell, but still she persisted, desperately hoping that Eragon would survive the fall.

He did. With a gasp Eragon's head emerged from the filthy water, followed by the head of the loud-shouting-man who was with him.

"That's it" Illaya panted. "I can't keep it up any longer"

The image on the mirror faded. It turned white, then cleared to reflect the faces of all that were looking at it. Angela was the first to speak. "Well" she said, "It could be worse"

_Worse? How?_ Saphira asked, growling.

Angela turned to her. "He could be in the clutches of the daemon that stole him away. Then he would well and truly be doomed. I wonder how he escaped."

Saphira would have paced if there had been room. Instead, she contented herself with growling. _Every time he's away from me something happens. I have to get to him._

_How?_ Solembum said, speaking for the first time.

Saphira's heart sank. She had tried everything she could, and no answers had been yielded. Everything but…

_Murtagh_ she breathed.

"What?" Illaya said in surprise.

"You heard her" Angela said. "Murtagh, the red rider"

"Galbatorix's apprentice? Why on earth would you go after him? After all the atrocities he committed?"

_He did them against his will_ Saphira snapped. _He was privy to the lore that Galbatorix hoarded. Maybe he knows how to open the arch_. Saphira could feel her excitement building. Maybe, just maybe, this would work.

"I'm going" Angela said. Saphira looked at her.

"Brightscales, face it, there is no way I am missing out on an adventure like this"

Saphira considered for a moment, then nodded. Angela was odd, it was true, but she was a potent warrior and possessed knowledge that Saphira had never guessed at.

"Very well" Illaya conceded "I wish you luck in your quest, though what good it will do I do not know"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Eragon flailed his limbs as he fell, then hit the water with a loud splash. He felt himself sink, dragged down by his equipment. He kicked out, moving his limbs faster than a regular human could hope to. Slowly, he made his way to the surface. His head broke through, and Eragon gasped as his lungs filled with air. He was still forced to exert his full abilities just to keep afloat. He looked around and, spotting a dry ledge above the foul water, struck out for it. The filthy water churned around him, and Eragon tried not to think about what he was swimming through.

Reaching up he finally managed to grab the ledge and haul himself up. He spat water out of his mouth and rubbed it out of his eyes, then looked around.

The waterfall he had just jumped from spilled down into a large room with a channel cut down the middle. More pipes led down into the room and filled the channel with their putrid contents. Across the room Eragon saw Korosov pull himself up out of the water. He hauled himself out, then stood up and pressed himself flat against the wall of the chamber. He looked up and, seeing Eragon, motioned for him to keep silent. Eragon did so, checking his heavy bolter in the process. He looked up the waterfall, remembering the mob of pursuers that had chased them down here in the first place. He could hear their shouting and the sounds of their weapons going off. A few minutes later he heard them arrive at the waterfall, their war cries reaching a crescendo, then fading awkwardly as they realized they couldn't see their prey.

Eragon started to move to another position in order to see the pursuers, only to stop when Korosov frantically shook his head. He held still, and together they waited as the infected pursuers searched for them. Eventually they left, but from the sound of it they left a few of their number to guard the tunnel, in case Eragon and Korosov came back.

Korosov apparently reached the same conclusion, for he made no move as the main group departed. He looked at Eragon sternly. Eragon nodded silently, and remained as still as he could.

They remained so for what felt like an hour. Korosov seemed to be a man of unnatural patience, and Eragon had inherited a portion of Saphira's. There was no sound or movement from either of them as they waited for the guards to leave or relax. The latter happened first, Eragon heard, from their increasingly bad tempered communication.

Korosov, making sure he had Eragon's attention first, pointed at the guards, then drew a line across his throat. Eragon nodded, gripping his heavy bolter. They would have to shoot the cultists, seeing as they were at opposite ends of a waterfall. He waited for Korosov's signal. When it came, he immediately ran out and, sighting in on one of guards, pulled the trigger. The bolter roared, and the guard was perforated with holes and small craters in his flesh.

At the same time Korosov rushed out, took aim, and shot a guard in the head. He switched targets and did the same. The guards, taken by surprise, fell relatively quickly. They tried to fight back, but the surprise of the attack defeated them.

Eragon nodded as he felt the last guard's mind fade away as its body died. He turned away from the sight to see Korosov, whose stern features were now leveled at him. He gripped his bolt pistol in his right hand. With his left, he motioned to the other side of the chamber. Eragon nodded and followed. His footsteps echoed around the chamber, and though water no longer dripped from his uniform he still felt damp and cold.

He reached the end of the chamber, where the ledges merged into a bridge over the water. Korosov met him there, bolt pistol still in hand. Eragon frowned, and almost readied himself for combat. He stopped when it occurred to him that it would only alarm the commissar further, and he did not want to provoke a fight down here.

"The main group should be far enough away by now to not have heard our shots" Korosov said. Eragon nodded. "Now what?" he asked.

"Now we discuss your abilities" Korosov said, looking at Eragon speculatively.

Eragon tensed. There was no way his psyking had gone unnoticed, not after ripping an Astartes in half, especially with a man as observant as Korosov. He waited for Korosov to make the first move, desperately hoping that it wouldn't result in a fight.

"How long have you been psyking" Korosov asked.

"About a year" Eragon answered warily.

Korosov frowned, and gripped his pistol tighter. "Have you had training?"

"Yes, but not for psyking here. It worked differently at my home"

Korosov looked confused for a moment, before looking at Eragon's forehead, at the mark the Emperor had placed there. Eragon's eyes tried to follow his gaze, then stopped as he realized what Korosov was looking at. He hoped that the mark would avert a fight.

Korosov said reluctantly "The Ultramarines say you were marked by the Emperor for his holy service. I do not know why He did so, but He has. At least I can say that you are no Chaos sorcerer, for no sorcerer would wear that mark. But if we survive this, you must go to the Adeptus Astra Telepathica"

"The Ultramarines said they would train me if I conduct myself well in the Guard"

Korosov nodded and holstered his weapon. "So be it" he said.

Eragon relaxed, then their situation came back to him. They were underground, lost in the sewers, with no way of knowing how to get out. "What do we do now?" he asked Korosov.

"We find our way out" Korosov said. With that he started forward. Eragon, doubtful of the plan but fearful of the commissar, started forward as well. He stopped when the commissar whipped around and grasped Eragon's hands.

"What?" Eragon asked.

"Look at your hands" Korosov replied. Eragon did so. The backs of his hands were a little rougher than they had been before his service in the Guard. But what caught Eragon's attention were the boils that had formed on them. They were relatively large, like oozing mountains that disfigured the landscape of Eragon's hands. In the stark white light of the illuminators they appeared pale red. They were like the boils Eragon had seen on the corpses of the slain Eris regiment soldiers, whom he now realized had been attacked by the infected in the tunnels.

"Am I infected?" Eragon asked, dreading the answer. He hoped beyond all that he would not mutate into one of the diseased hulks that they had just killed. Such a fate would be almost as bad as permanent separation from Saphira. Eragon forced that thought from himself.

"It would appear so" Korosov said grimly. He let go of Eragon's hands and looked at him. "We need to get you out of here and to a Hospitlar, before the infection grows too strong"

Eragon was surprised at the concern the normally callous commissar was showing. He opened his mouth and then closed it, hoping that they could somehow find a way out.

Korosov turned and started down a tunnel leading away from the chamber. Eragon followed him, his heavy bolter ready and his illuminator panning across the tunnel.

They struck out into the darkness, the only light coming from the illuminator each one carried. The noise of the waterfall soon faded, and the only things to be heard were the drops that fell from the ceiling, the sound of their own breathing, and their footsteps. All of these echoed around them. Eragon's enhanced hearing many times detected rats that scurried through tunnels in the walls, anxiously avoiding the two giants that intruded on their domain.

They came across a large cylindrical chamber. Up its side ran a ladder that was pitted and rusted with age. Korosov stopped by it and muttered "Finally" He then grabbed one of the rungs and started the long journey up. Eragon slung his bolter across his back and proceeded to do the same.

Up and up they went, past pipes that spilled more foul water into the chamber below. Twice, a rung pulled clear of the wall, and Eragon was forced to grab onto another to prevent himself from falling.

Finally, they reached the top, Eragon pulling himself up and over after Korosov had done the same. Without a pause, Korosov got up and, choosing a direction seemingly at random, walked forward. Eragon quickly followed.

They continued to do this. Whenever they came across a ladder they went up. Eragon, recognizing the pattern, hoped that it would yield results. But it continued to ebb. No matter how they wandered, no matter how many ladders they climbed up, they were still lost, with no idea of where to go other than up.

If Korosov felt any of this as well he showed no sign of it. His stern features were always the same whenever Eragon sighted them. His gait never changed, he never stopped for rests of any kind. Eragon marveled that the stoic commissar could show none of the emotions he was surely feeling at this moment.

They came to yet another ladder and started climbing it. Eragon followed Korosov up, his mind already used to the routine. When they reached the top however, Korosov stopped, and looked down at Eragon. He made the motion for silence. Eragon instantly tensed but remained quiet. He understood immediately what was going on. Something was waiting at the top of the ladder. It hadn't discovered them yet, that much was clear. Evidently Korosov did not know what was waiting for them.

Korosov continued to wait, holding still as a statue. Then, he whistled softly, and ducked down below the top into a crouch. Eragon watched in puzzlement at first, then watched as a hideous, infected face with an eight pointed star tattoo peered over the edge. Before it could react Korosov lashed out, grabbing its head and using it to haul himself up. As soon as his feet were on the ground his bolt pistol was out and pressed against the infected man's head. He hissed "Not a move you filth or I'll blow your head off"

The terrified cultist nodded, and did nothing as Eragon pulled himself up onto the platform. He aimed his bolter at the cultist, but didn't pull the trigger.

Korosov yanked the cultist up to his feet and said threateningly "Now, you are going to lead us out of here or I swear by the Golden Throne I will shoot you where you stand. Understand?" he snarled.

The cultist bobbed his head up and down and then started forward. Korosov, keeping his pistol leveled at the cultist's head, followed. Eragon lowered his heavy bolter but still kept it cradled in his hands, ready for use. He followed, relieved that they finally had a way out. His thoughts turned to what Korosov would do to the cultist when they escaped the sewers. Undoubtedly he would gun him down as soon as their way became clear. Eragon resolved to stop this from happening. After all, he had led them out.

They continued forward, illuminators fixed ahead. The darkness remained as black as ever, but Eragon was optimistic that they would find their way out.

As they continued forward Eragon's ears picked up a new sound. It was the sound of a man's voice. Eragon couldn't make out what he was saying yet, but from the tone it sounded like he was projecting to a large audience. Eragon frowned. It was just as black as ever, so why he would be hearing a crowd down here was beyond him.

The noise surged as the crowd broke into cheers. Apparently it was loud enough for Korosov to hear, for he lunged forward and grabbed the head and neck of the cultist. With a savage jerk he snapped the man's neck. The man crumpled to the ground, dead, as Eragon looked on in stunned disbelief.

"You just killed our only way out of here" Eragon snarled.

Korosov turned and covered Eragon's mouth with his hand. Before Eragon could remove it Korosov hissed "He was leading us into an ambush, now _be quiet!_"

Eragon froze. Korosov slowly removed his hand. Eragon breathed in, and listened again. The cheering was dying down, and the speaker was continuing his oratory. Korosov motioned forward and then started sneaking in the direction he indicated. Eragon tried to emulate him, but he was not so successful. Still, they encountered no further infected until they reached another chamber. Korosov put himself in a prone position, and continued forward by crawling. Again, Eragon copied him and continued forward.

They emerged out of a tunnel onto a sort of balcony. The water which they had been walking past flowed past them and fell off the side in a waterfall. Eragon's eyes swept the room and widened. Korosov kept quiet, but Eragon felt sure even he was reacting in the same way.

The chamber was the largest they had seen. It was large enough to hold a whole contingent of guardsmen, and indeed, there were squads of guardsmen there. All of them were chained or bound in some way, and all of them were forced into a kneeling position. Behind each stood an infected man or woman with a weapon in hand. Behind the guardsmen stood a crowd of cultists listening with rapt attention to the man that stood on a podium speaking to them. The whole chamber was illuminated by lights that had been set up around it.

The man was another of the infected Astartes. He towered above the cultists, his bloated, disgusting body clad in ruined armor. His very form bespoke corruption, from his dripping, cracked boots to his horrifically mutated face. It was so disfigured from boils, scars, burns, and sores that it looked like a child's nightmare come to life. Its blackened teeth were filed to points. Pus and other bodily secretions ran down his armor to pool on the floor.

He was speaking, projecting words to his audience, and Eragon found it hard to believe that such a ruined face could speak so fluently.

"Yes, our enemies crowd around us" he was saying, "We have lost some of our brothers and sisters, and our allies are nigh eradicated, but have hope, children of Nurgle, for Grandfather Nurgle is a compassionate god who shall never abandon his children. Though he is the patron of death, he is unwilling to see it come to his followers, and hence has blessed us with his favors. And soon, he shall grace us with the presence of one of his very own angels!"

The crowd roared its approval, and Korosov's eyes widened further. "Throne" he whispered, "It's a summoning" and he appeared to consider something. He then nodded, and started to aim his bolt pistol carefully at the preacher.

"Yes" the abominable preacher continued "Once our sacrifice is complete, once the blood of these our enemies" here he gestured at the bound guardsmen "has been spilled, we shall be graced with the presence of one of the sacred plaguebearers!"

Hundreds of diseased mouths screamed their approval, and with horror Eragon realized that they were about to sacrifice the guardsmen. He started to stand up, but felt Korosov's hand stop him. The commissar whispered "Stay down, then free them when the Traitors have left" He then sighted down his pistol, held his breath, closed his left eye, and pulled the trigger.

The bolt pistol went off with a thunderous retort, and the shot flew from the barrel of the gun. The shot was true, and the projectile impacted with the infected preacher's head, burrowing through layers of diseased flesh before the mass reactive fuse went off, detonating inside the Astartes head. His head bulged briefly before rupturing, spraying bits of bone, brain matter and blood everywhere.

A shocked silence filled the chamber. Then Korosov stood up and shouted "Death to His enemies!" He shot off another round and then fled.

"Kill him!" one of the cultists roared. The cultists flooded out of the chamber, hissing garbled war cries through infected mouths. Some stayed behind to guard the bound guardsmen, but the majority fled like a tide of the plague.

Eragon couldn't believe it. Korosov had just sacrificed himself to allow Eragon to free the prisoners. But the plan wouldn't work. There were still a few cultists left, all armed with autoguns. Eragon knew he couldn't take them out at a range: they were too durable and there were too many of them. He would have to psyk again.

He reached out with his mind and seized control of one of the guards. As soon as he dominated his mind he made him attack his fellows, shooting with his autogun. The others took a second to overcome their shock, but they reacted quickly and gunned down the mind controlled guard. Eragon shuddered as he felt his death, and for a moment he regretted his action before pushing it aside and repeating the process.

Soon there was only one guard left, heavily wounded and clearly frightened. It turned and fled, probably fearing that it would fall under the same spell.

Eragon had a terrible nosebleed. His mind felt like it was one fire, and his head ached. Worse, the daemons had assaulted his mind twice, and the second time had taken a few seconds to fight off. He would have to limit his pysking for the rest of the day, else he risked injury or worse, possession.

Eragon carefully stood up and jumped off the balcony, hitting the ground and rolling into the impact. It hurt, but he hadn't broken anything. He then walked over to the bound guardsmen, who had watched the proceedings with confusion, and now were looking at Eragon in surprise. Their surprise deepened as they made out Eragon's features and the mark on his forehead.

"Who are you" one of them, a sergeant, asked.

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Squad 74 of the 17th Eris regiment" Eragon answered. "I'm here to rescue you"

The guardsman smiled in relief, and Eragon walked over to him. He saw that he had been expertly bound with a rope of some kind. Eragon tried to untie the knot, but it defeated him. Instead, he grasped it with both hands and gave it a sharp pull. The rope snapped under his strength, and the sergeant yelled "Ow! What the feth are you doing?" as the rope slapped him.

"Sorry" Eragon said, moving to the next guardsman. He repeated the action, and the second man was freed as well.

Eragon proceeded to free the rest of the captives. There were about forty in all, and by the time he had freed the last one his arms ached from the effort. He looked up to see the guardsmen staring at him in amazement.

"How did you do that?" one of them asked.

"I'm strong" Eragon said shortly. "Do you know where they put your weapons?"

They did, and after going down a side passage they reclaimed their lasguns and other equipment.

They were moving back into the main chamber when Eragon started to hear the shouts and sounds of autoguns going off. He turned to the other guardsmen and said "They're coming back"

They froze, and then a sergeant asked "How do you know? I don't hear anything"

"I do" Eragon said firmly. "Get ready"

The guardsmen did so, taking up positions and leveling their weapons as the entrances to the hall. Some of them fixed bayonets and stood on either side of the doorways. And then they waited.

Soon they could hear the garbled shouts of diseased men and the sounds of their weapons going off. Eragon realized they must still be after Korosov.

"Korosov!" he shouted. "In here!"

For a moment nothing happened. Then one of the sergeants called out "Hold your fire men, got a friendly" Korosov came pelting into the room, his breathing ragged but otherwise none the worse for wear. He nodded at Eragon, who nodded back. He then turned and said "Alright men, the Emperor's marked man has freed you, now be ready to show His wrath to those who would have sacrificed you"

Some of the men growled affirmatives, but many looked at Eragon in a sort of wonder. Eragon nodded to them, hiding his discomfort at their stares.

A chorus of yells met them as the first of the cultists rounded the corner. The ones in front stopped as they realized their former sacrifice was free and ready to turn the tables on them.

"Fire!" Korosov roared. Lasguns immediately ripped into the cultists standing in front. The first line was nearly vaporized by the barrage leveled at them. They fell to the ground in pieces, whole sections of their bodies burned off.

More pressed forward, only to run headlong into a kill zone as some forty lasguns tore through them. Some fought back, leveling their guns and firing into the room. But many were blinded by the light of the room and the guardsmen's illuminators, and so their fire was clumsy and inaccurate. More and more pressed forward only to be torn apart by volley after volley of disciplined fire. Some nearly made it into the chamber, only to be speared through the head by the bayonets of soldiers waiting for them. It was a massacre.

Eventually the charge stopped, and the infected cultists started to flee.

"After them!" the sergeant yelled.

"No, hold your position" Korosov barked. The sergeant backed down, probably expecting to be shot by the commissar. However, Korosov didn't, instead turning to Eragon and yelling "Bromsson, take a prisoner"

Eragon sped forward like a greyhound, weapons at the ready. Pouring on his elven speed, he flashed down the tunnel and after the fleeing cultists.

The cultists were still running in an undisciplined rout, and it was easy for Eragon to catch up and butcher most of them. Soon only one was left, whom Eragon tackled to the ground.

"Come with me if you want to live" Eragon snarled, his chainsword at the man's throat. The cultist nodded, too scared for words, and Eragon stood up. The cultist followed suit, and together they went back to the central chamber.

They soon reached it. As they entered, Eragon saw some of the men bandaging their wounds or helping their comrades up. Korosov spotted Eragon with his prisoner, and made his way towards them. "Now" he growled, "you are going to show us the way out of these sewers. Do not dare to lie, for the man who captured you is marked by the Emperor and knows when any man lies. If he says you are lying I will personally send you to your judgment by the Emperor. Am I clear?" The last sentence was said with an extra layer of menace added to growl in his voice.

The cultist stole a look at Eragon, who tried to look intimidating, then cast his eyes to the floor and said in a gurgling voice "Yes"

"Good" Korosov said. "Now, show us the way out"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Eragon's eyes narrowed in annoyance. He was sure he wasn't the only one. Grumbles and curses echoed up and down the sewers as guardsmen vented their frustration about the Emperor forsaken tunnels they had been going through. Even Korosov was showing hints of impatience.

Their guide seemed determined to use the absolute longest route out of the sewers. Twice he had actually tried to lead the group into an ambush. Both times he had failed due to Eragon's mental probes. However, Eragon couldn't check him all the time. His willpower was spent due to his earlier psyking, and he did not want to give the daemons anymore opportunity to attack.

He tried to stifle a yawn but was too slow, letting his exhaustion become known. Korosov apparently heard it, because in the next chamber he came to he called a halt.

"Alright" he said, "Sergeant, organize your squad into a watch. The rest of you, rest"

There were some relieved mutters from most of the troops while the designated watch squad grumbled as they went about their assigned duty.

Korosov walked to Eragon and said, "You especially, I want to rest" Eragon nodded in relief. He walked over to the wall and sat against it. From there he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

After what felt like an indecent amount of time Eragon found himself being shaken awake by a guardsman. Korosov wanted to move out, and the squad was complying. Eragon stifled a groan and got up. Korosov waited impatiently for the squads to ready themselves, then started off again, his chainsword leveled at the cultist's back.

They had only gone a short distance when Eragon began to hear another set of noises. A faint clanking, like that of metal on metal, sounded down the tunnel. Eragon frowned. This was a new sound, and not one he had heard before in the sewers. He extended his mind forward, but sensed nothing. Shrugging, he continued forward.

They soon reached a point where the other guardsmen started to hear it as well. They gripped their weapons tighter and looked around for the noise. Korosov held up his hand in a fist, signaling a halt.

"You two" he said, pointing at the guardsmen in front, "Keep him from running" The men nodded and pointed their bayonets at the cultist. Korosov pointed to Eragon. "Come with me and stay quiet"

Eragon walked forward, and together they crept stealthily forwards. The clanking grew louder, along with a new noise. It sounded like many small legs hitting the ground. Eragon, curious, extended his mind again but again felt nothing. He frowned. Whatever was making that noise was beyond him. Perhaps it was yet another one of the strange machines this world was so fond of.

Eragon and Korosov carefully rounded a corner into a chamber. They immediately drew back.

The chamber extended far, both up and down, and was cylindrical. It was dominated by a gigantic metal column that supported the immense weight of the city above it. But what truly caught Eragon's attention were the figures that moved around the pillar.

They were tall, skeletal beings. Indeed, they looked like metal, armored skeletons. Their eyes shone a sinister green, as sinister as their faces were. Some appeared to be standing guard, while others were somehow attaching a strange device to the huge pillar that dominated the room. The device was large, and glowed a sickly green in multiple places.

Eragon had never seen these beings before, but Korosov seemed to have. "Xenos" he hissed.

Eragon gave him a puzzled look, but before he could ask he heard a massed chitter. It sounded like it was coming from above. He looked up and saw a multitude of small things climbing down the walls towards the two of them. They appeared to be made of the same metal as the skeletal beings, but these looked like beetles. Eragon reached out with his mind…and found he could not sense them. With a start he realized he must be facing beings like the Ra'zac, beings that couldn't be felt in the mind.

Korosov took one look at the descending swarm and shouted "Run!" With that, he turned on his heel and sprinted away. Eragon looked after him, then shouted as a lance of green lightening impacted on the wall by him. The sentries had noticed him as well apparently. Their first shot was all the encouragement Eragon needed to turn around and run.

He fled down the tunnel, catching up with Korosov. Behind him he heard screeches from the metal beetles as they massed in the entrance to the tunnel. Their noises dropped into a more predatory tone as they chased after the fleeing guardsmen like a silver colored tide.

Korosov and Eragon ran, and soon found the guardsmen they had rescued. They all stood up as they saw the fleeing pair, and their weapons were at the ready.

They needn't have bothered. Korosov shouted "Xenos! Run!" The guardsmen were confused at first, and then paled as they saw the tide of silver beetles coming down the hallway. The sergeants bellowed a retreat, and the men started running. The cultist was too slow to start, and Eragon watched in horror as the cultist was engulfed by the beetles. He shrieked as they flayed the flesh from his bones.

The beetles finished their work in seconds, and then continued their pursuit of the rest of the guardsmen. In horror, Eragon realized that they were faster than the fleeing guardsmen, and they would catch their prey in seconds. There were too many to shoot, and it would be hard to hit such small targets. No, he had to psyke. Again.

Eragon stopped running, and broke the barrier in his mind. The energy roiled out, almost impossible to control. With difficulty he focused it in his mind, and, ignoring Korosov's shout, shouted "Jierda!"

The beetles were all caught between two opposing waves of force that roiled into each other with all the force of a charging dragon. The beetles flailed their limbs as they were thrown into the air by the force. The waves continued ruthlessly forward, smashing into the group of beetles. Somehow they held.

Eragon, desperate, poured more power into the spell while ignoring the shrieking daemons that started to enter his mind. Pushing harder he smashed the beetles into a pulp. He let the spell go, but was too late to stop an attack. A malevolent entity invaded his mind and immediately started attacking it. It felt as if it was trying to claw Eragon's consciousness apart. The thing tore and rent at Eragon's sanity, and Eragon howled in pain. He fought back as hard as he could, but the daemon was relentless, forcing its malign self further into Eragon's inner thoughts. Eragon fought back desperately. His whole body was in pain. His limbs shuddered with spasms uncontrollably. His vision grew dark.

Saphira jolted upright from her sleep. She had just felt the most terrible pain, but it wasn't her own. It was her rider's. As tenuous as their bond had become over the distance Eragon had covered, it ran too deep for some things to ever be blocked out. And right now she knew that Eragon was suffering terrible pain, perhaps even dying.

Alarm shot through her, and she sprang from her bedding. She leaped from the tree house where she was staying to the ground and ran. She barreled down the avenues of the elves forest-nest and ran to Tialderi Hall, where the nobles and royals stayed. She stopped in front of it and roared as loudly as she could.

_Arya!_ She yelled.

Within seconds an elf servant came rushing out. "Brightscales" he asked fearfully, "What is it?"

_I need to see Arya, or Dathedr, or anyone who can scry_ Saphira said frantically.

"Please Brightscales, can't this wait until a later hour?"

"_NO!_" Saphira thundered.

The elf immediately sped away, leaving Saphira to wait, almost panicking in her worry for her rider.

In scarcely a minute Arya herself sped out. "Saphira, what is it?" she asked, alarmed.

_Arya, I need you to scry Eragon. He's in pain, terrible pain, maybe even dying!_

Arya immediately intoned a spell of scrying. An image formed in midair. It was of Eragon, clearly wracked with terrible pain. He spasmed and cried out. His flesh was rent asunder in multiple places. He then collapsed, utterly still.

Severus Ullmar walked alongside his captain. The sun was setting, coloring the sky a rainbow of hues through the pollution that surrounded the city. Severus found that he did not like this sight, instead thinking of the beautiful sunsets that he had seen at the Fortress of Hera. But, as different as it was, this was part of the Emperor's dominion. And so it was to be treasured and preserved.

Just perhaps not as much as Macragge.

Severus angled some of his sensors to Captain Sinon. Sinon's helmet was off, and his features were creased with irritation.

"So how was the meeting?" Severus asked, although he had a good idea of what the answer would be.

Sinon sighed. "Same as ever. I had to work hard just to keep Ezekiel on topic. I almost don't know why I even bother meeting with him"

"Because he is the general of the Hammer of the Emperor" Severus answered. "And we are duty bound to protect His dominions and to cooperate with His other servants"

Sinon smiled. "Thank you, old friend"

Severus acknowledged the thanks. "I was a chaplain. What can I say?"

"I think you should give the general one of your sermons. If that does not improve him then he is hopeless"

"He doesn't listen to his own priests. What makes you think he'll listen to me?"

Sinon laughed. "Severus, there is a big difference between an Ecclesiarchy priest and a chaplain turned dreadnought. About twelve feet and six tons to be exact"

Severus joined in with his own laughter, imagining the look on the indolent general's face if the dreadnought decided to force a sermon upon him.

"Maybe I will do that" Severus mused.

"You have my support" Sinon said, grinning.

They lapsed into comfortable silence as the old friends continued their walk. Severus looked out over the hive city. He had seen the great metropolises of Holy Terra itself, so he was in no way overawed by what he saw here. Indeed, as he thought about it, Severus really did find that he preferred the landscape of macragge over any hive city. He would have shrugged if he could have. It was still the Emperor's.

"So" Sinon asked, "What have you heard of Bromsson?" Despite his efforst to sound neutral, Severus could still pick up a hint of reluctance in his friend's voice. Severus sighed mentally.

He could understand his captain's reluctance to trust the newcomer. After all, Eragon Shadeslayer was a very hard person to trust. He was not an Astartes, yet he possessed the reactions and some of the strength of one. His physical prowess was unnatural. His features deviated from the form chosen by the Emperor towards that of the blasphemous Eldar. And he was an unsanctioned psyker with some training. Many would call him a sorcerer or a witch. If only Sinon had been there to see the miracle, to see the Emperor's holy power mark Eragon with the symbol of the rosarius.

"He's doing fine. My contact told me he singlehandedly annihilated five gangers in melee combat the other day"

Sinon grunted. "I'm not surprised. Between his own prowess and their incompetence it was bound to end that way. It would have been better if he had destroyed them at range however. His armor will not stand charging blindly into combat"

Severus grunted. As much as he did wish that Sinon would accept the miracle for what it was, his captain did have a point. Flak armor may as well be paper on the battlefield. He pressed on.

"What worries me is that he was sent into the sewers this morning"

Sinon glanced at the dreadnought. "Then it will be a true test for him. If he is chosen of the Emperor then he will survive. If not…" he shrugged, and the dreadnought knew what he meant. Severus continued forward, resigned. His friend was right. And that was why they had set him in the Imperial Guard in the first place.

The friends' walk was interrupted by a low rumble. They stopped.

"What is…" Sinon began.

"Look!" Severus shouted in horror.

One of the city's colossal spires swayed slightly. Its surface cracked and windows shattered. And then it started to fall. It sank down, slowly but surely, into the ground. Severus looked at the ground and saw that it too was caving in, sinking down and forming a large depression. The spire appeared to hit something. It stopped, but the impact was too much for it. It imploded, collapsing in on itself. The other buildings surrounding it tipped into the center of the newly formed crater. They smashed into each other as well as the spire in the middle. They then collapsed downward, their integrity lost.

Something moved in the corner of Severus' eye sensor. He turned and saw another section of ground collapse in on itself, taking every building unfortunate enough to be in its radius with it.

With a prolonged cracking noise another section split open, yawning like the mouth of some titanic beast. Buildings and spires swayed and smashed into each other before tumbling down into the crack.

Looking around, Severus saw the same sight being repeated all over the hive city. The hive itself was caving in on itself.

"Severus, look" Sinon commanded.

Severus did so, and saw flashes of green light all over the city. A stream of communication flooded his vox caster, mostly filled with screams of dying guardsmen and desperate requests for support. Other channels were ominously silent, their soldiers obviously slain.

Severus listened, horrified at what he heard. A blast of green lightening hit him, singeing his armor. He turned to see a squad of Necrons phasing in around him and Sinon. With a roar he charged forward, his storm bolter roaring death and defiance. Three of them he vaporized with his lascannons. Another was shredded by bolter fire before being stomped into the ground by the dreadnought. Two more were crushed by his power fist.

Meanwhile, the others were engaged at melee range by Sinon. He bisected one of them with his power sword. Whipping out his plasma pistol at the same time, he turned and immolated another of the foul xenos. One tried to melee him, slamming its weapon into Sinon's shoulder. Sinon staggered back a bit but kept his footing. Another plasma blast turned the metallic adversary into melted slag.

He turned to see the last two being torn apart by Severus. Contented that the dreadnought had things in hand, Sino warily scanned the fallen Necrons. Two were attempting to rise, but were slashed apart before they could cause any major damage.

Barely panting at all, Sinon turned to Severus, who had finished with the two Necron warriors. Severus looked at him, and they both thought the same thing: the Necrons had returned.

"How did they collapse the city?" Severus asked.

"They must have infiltrated the sewers and taken out the supports for the hive" Sinon answered.

Severus stiffened. The Necrons were in the sewers, which was where Eragon was as well.

Severus immediately turned away and started running, only to stop when he realized there was no way he could fit into the sewers. He stopped, and slammed a fist down.

"What is it?" Sinon asked, concerned.

"Eragon is in the sewers with the xenos" Severus answered.

Sinon thought rapidly. "There's nothing we can do for him. Even if there was a way to find him in the sewers we are all needed up here to repel the Necrons"

"But" the dreadnought began.

"Severus, we waste our time arguing. Every moment more of the Emperor's subjects die. The man will have to fend for himself. If he is chosen by the Emperor he will succeed"

Severus thought about it, and then reluctantly agreed. He could not place the welfare of one over the good of many. "As you wish" he said reluctantly.

Sinon put a hand on the dreadnought, the closest he could come to putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Then they both heard the vox call that was broadcasted on all channels.

"This is Lord Commissar Gagarin. The situation is untenable. All military forces are ordered to evacuate the planet"

Eragon's sight swam slowly into focus. He was aware of a rumbling all around him. He realized that his legs weren't moving, but he was still going forward. How he was doing that he didn't know. His body hurt all over. Part of his vision was obscured by a black dot.

Eragon shook his head, then winced as pain shot through it. "Sir!" a voice shouted, a voice by his side. "He's awake"

"Keep moving" another voice answered. Eragon frowned. The voice sounded familiar, like a man he knew.

"Yes sir" the first voice said, and they continued. Eragon realized his feet were dragging on the floor. He weakly thrust down with his legs and tried to run forward. His legs bore some of his weight, but he was still forced to rely on the soldiers who were supporting him.

His vision cleared completely, aside from the black dot that stubbornly sat in his eyesight. Eragon looked around and realized that they were running into a wide chamber of the sewers.

"Sir" one of the guardsmen called. "There's our way out"

"Finally" Korosov said. "Alright, everyone up the…"

With a prolonged rumble the ceiling in front of them started to collapse.

"Back! Back into the tunnel!" Korosov yelled.

The group turned and ran. The ceiling kept collapsing around them until it ended just short of the tunnel. Korosov and the other soldiers swore explosively.

"Alright men, looks like we'll have to dig our way out. We're not that far from the surface, just a few feet away. You two" he said, these last words directed at the two soldiers supporting Eragon "Prop him up against the wall"

The guardsmen did so, and then rushed to help dig a way through the boulders. Eragon tried to get up and help, but Korosov forced him back down. "No, you stay here" he said. Eragon started to protest, but Korosov would have none of it. "Look at yourself" he said.

Eragon did so. He was bandaged in half a dozen places, one of which clearly covered a major wound. Judging by the black spot in his eye, he also had a minor cataract. "What happened?" he asked weakly.

"You nearly died" Korosov said. "After you psyked you collapsed to the ground, spasming. You struggled so hard you tore your skin open, and some muscle too. Then you collapsed and stopped moving. Your heart nearly stopped. We had to carry you after you were bandaged. Now how do you feel?"

"My body hurts all over, and I think I have a cataract"

"Stay where you are then"

Eragon did so, waiting. The guardsmen dug slowly through the rubble, cursing whenever they met a stubborn rock or shifted one onto their feet. Still, they made progress, and after what felt like half an hour, when they had cleared partway into the chamber, one of them pulled a piece of rubble away and exposed a shaft of light.

The guardsmen cheered and enlarged the hole until it was big enough for a single guardsman to go through.

"Alright, first squad, go through" Korosov ordered. They did so, and the rest of the guardsmen followed until it was just Eragon and Korosov left.

By now Eragon was feeling better. He was well enough to stand and walk, although he still hurt.

Korosov had just gone through the hole when a series of footsteps approached them. Eragon made out a series of lighter footsteps along with a pair of much heavier ones. Then he saw the source of the noise.

Into the chamber spilled a mob of a dozen men, all with the star of Chaos somewhere on their bodies. Behind them came two enormous figures. They were bigger even than space marines, and were covered in huge, bulky armor from head to toe. Chains fell from their belts and ran through skulls that hung like grotesque trophies. Spears stuck up behind him, through which were impaled a series of heads. Their armor was festooned with sickly sigils and malefic runes, symbols against which Eragon's very essence rebelled.

The giant in front stopped. It stared at Eragon and then hissed "So it is true, and my end has come, just as Luchance predicted" It stared at him a moment longer, and then said "But if I am to die, then you, the omen of my defeat, will die too"

It gestured forwards toward Eragon. "Attack" it ordered. The cultists surged forward, eager to please their dread master. The first giant stopped the second from attacking however, seeming to be content to overwhelm Eragon with sheer numbers.

"Bromsson!" Korosov shouted. Eragon turned to see the commissar toss his chainsword to him. Eragon caught it and, powering it up, he countercharged the attacking cultists with a sword in each hand.

Eragon had fought with both hands before, but not at the same time. His best bet would be to utilize his speed and strength and cut his attackers down before they overwhelmed him. He roared. His chainswords mimicked his cry, and he fell upon the cultists.

He used his right sword to knock his opponents weapons aside. His second blow tore through their chests, and the first row of men collapsed. An axe came whizzing at his head, and Eragon ducked it, before decapitating the man, who fell with a spray of blood. The other sword whipped around and cut through the abdomen of his sixth opponent.

The cultists hesitated, afraid of this man who had butchered their allies. It was the wrong move. Eragon used their hesitation to spear two of them through the gut. He yanked the swords apart from each other, and the men to the side fell, their viscera escaping through the gashes in their chests.

By now only four were left. Those four turned and ran, but even in that they were hopelessly out matched. Eragon caught up with them and cut them from behind, watching as his swords severed each man's spine.

With a scream, the last man fell. Eragon looked up from his victims to see the two malefic giants standing there, watching. The one in front hissed in fury "So, you think to stop me? Well, the omen of my death shall not be my slayer! Know that you shall fall before Kyras Ikardon, lord of the Word Bearers" With that he hefted his weapon, a giant war hammer, and with his weapon and shield raised he charged forward, roaring a battle cry that would have routed a pack of Kull.

Eragon knew he was no match for this being. If it was an Astartes, then he was dead if he confronted it. Fully rested and healed he would have hesitated to go against the meanest space marine. In his current state he had no chance.

Eragon turned and ran. He sprinted up the rock pile, slipping as he clawed his way up. He pulled himself through the hole that the guardsmen had dug, and then stood up. Some part of him noted that he was surrounded by guardsmen. It also noted that the buildings around him were mostly in ruin, and that he was standing at the edge of a giant sinkhole. But the majority of his mind only cared about one thing: survival.

"Run!" he shouted.

The guardsmen all backed up nervously. Korosov opened his mouth to shout…when a thunderous noise split the air. With a sound akin to a lightning bolt the rubble behind Eragon exploded outwards. Eragon was caught in the spray of rocks, and he tumbled down further into the crater. He got up, slowly, painfully, and saw Kyras Ikardon climbing out of the opening he had just smashed open. He sighted Eragon and, bellowing, started to charge. Las shots flickered all around him, hitting his armor with absolutely no effect. Ikardon soon reached Eragon, who struggled to his feet.

"This is it?" the warlord snarled. "This is all the one who bears the Corpse Emperor's symbol can do? Get your sword up and FIGHT!" He swung his hammer back. Eragon tried to parry, but Ikardon simply smashed the chainsword with his hammer. The sound of thunder boomed again, and the sword was shattered in his hand. The shockwave from the strange war hammer pushed Eragon off his feet. He fell back onto the ground and cried out as his wounds were reopened. He feebly put his other sword up, but the Word Bearer swung his hammer again. With a boom the second sword was destroyed. Eragon now lay defenseless before the giant. He lifted his hammer, readying a blow that would utterly annihilate the helpless Rider.

Eragon looked up with tears in his eyes. He only wished he could see Saphira again.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 11

_No!_ Saphira screamed.

She leaned toward the image, only slightly aware that she wasn't the only one doing so. The yard in front of Tialdiri Hall was filled with elves, all gaping at the image Arya's enhanced scrying spell had projected. In front was Arya and her nobles, behind them the lesser citizens of Ellesmera. Looming behind them was Firnen, who had been roused along with his Rider. All were spellbound by the image they were watching.

Eragon lay, cut and wounded terribly, on the ground. In one hand he clasped the ruined hilt of a sword. The other hand was thrown up in a futile attempt to ward off the blow that was aimed at him. Above him stood a giant of a man, wearing the most evil looking armor that Saphira had seen in her life. His arm was reared back, ready to strike down and execute Eragon with one mighty blow.

Saphira couldn't believe it. Her Rider had been cruelly taken from her by the monster only to be executed by the giant of a man that stood before him. Her Rider, once so mighty, had now been wounded and weakened to the point of helplessness, and now faced certain death. If only he could he healed. If only he would be…

Saphira felt a feeling within her, like when she had repaired Isidar Mithrim. Magic welled out of her, swelling in its power. Like a bolt of lightning it left her, reaching across the galaxy to a point unknown to her.

In the image she saw before her she saw Eragon suddenly gasp. His open cuts and scrapes closed. His eyes, only wearily half open, closed and then opened completely, filled with new life and energy.

"What sorcery is this?" the giant asked. Then he brought his war hammer down. Only to see Eragon roll out of its way just in time.

Eragon did not know what had just happened. One moment he had been on the ground, weak and helpless as a kitten. The next he had been freed of his pain, and he had seen the wounds on his arm heal. Where he had been weary before, he was now rejuvenated. The Chaos Lord had hesitated, hesitated just long enough for Eragon to push himself out of the way of the descending hammer. The shockwave from the hammer's impact still caught him, and tossed him to the side. He hit the ground, bruised, but not defeated.

Eragon had no idea what had happened to him. Maybe it was the Emperor. Whatever it was, Eragon had no intention of wasting it.

He looked at the warlord, who was staring at him.

"So, the corpse Emperor would have you live? All the more reason to see you destroyed" he growled. He hefted his hammer and charged. Eragon waited, then dodged to the side and punched as hard as he could.

The blow had absolutely no effect whatsoever. Eragon stared at his fist, dismayed, then was smashed by his opponent's shield in a backhanded blow. The strike picked him up and tossed him into the air, the side of his face burning with pain. He impacted roughly on the ground, letting a cry of pain escape his lips. Looking forward, he saw the Chaos Lord bellowing in anger as a volley of las shots impacted on his armor with no effect. The lord turned and bellowed to his fellow giant "Kill those wretches!" Eragon followed his gaze and saw the other giant turn his weapon on the guardsmen. It looked strange, like two weapons fused together. One was unfamiliar. The other was. It looked like… like a meltagun.

Eragon thought briefly. His adversary's armor was impervious to las shots and bolt shots, but perhaps the tank busting melta gun could breach it.

He got up and ran. Ignoring the Chaos lord's shout of "Coward! Face me you wretch!" he ran up the crater wall as fast as he could. He flew over the rubble at a full sprint, aiming himself at the lord's lackey, who was now shooting at the guardsmen. The guardsmen were running now, desperately trying to escape the onslaught facing them. The bodyguard, if that was what he was, was shooting what Eragon now recognized as a bolter.

Eragon caught him by surprise. Leaping, he impacted on the giant's weapon and grasped it, wrenching it out of his hand. The weapon came loose from the surprised giant's hand, and Eragon landed to his side and swung the weapon around. He dodged a punch from the giant, the fist crackling with power as it swung past him. Eragon backed up from the giant, fumbling for the trigger. He found two of them. Regardless, Eragon mashed both of them down.

The bolter part erupted into flame as it fired, accompanied by a flash of white as the meltagun activated. A blast of heat washed over Eragon as a pocket of pure heat impacted on the giant's armor, burning through it and causing terrible damage to the giant's organs. The giant bent over, looking in disbelief at the charred hole in its chest. It looked up, just in time to receive a melta shot to his head.

The giant, with its face no more than a blackened mess, fell forwards and impacted on the ground. He was well and truly dead now.

Eragon turned to see the guardsmen watching him in awe. A movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see the Word Bearers lord charging, hammer held high. Eragon dodged the blow, but was still blown backwards by the shockwave. As soon as he impacted Eragon pulled the melta's trigger. The shot hit the shoulder of the Word Bearer, melting its way through and burning into the man's flesh. He bellowed in pain, and turned toward Eragon. He charged, and the hammer impacted near Eragon's head. A wave of energy impacted with Eragon's head, which snapped back under the force. His body was lifted into the air and hurled. Eragon landed hard, his vision swimming. He tried to aim his gun but realized he had dropped it. He looked up and blearily saw the Chaos lord stalking toward him. His hammer went back, ready to pulp Eragon.

Eragon despaired. He had come so close. So close to winning this fight, and he was still about to die.

Then a figure dressed in black leapt onto Ikardon's back. He hoisted himself up and stuffed an object into the hole Eragon had made in the lord's armor. The figure then dropped off and ran. Ikardon turned to him and bellowed, swinging his hammer. The figure ducked. Ikardon pulled back for another blow, but was interrupted by a small explosion that blasted out of the hole in his armor and utterly destroyed his insides.

The armor toppled backwards. Then Eragon's vision went black.

Korosov couldn't believe his luck. He had just killed a Chaos lord. A Chaos lord in terminator armor no less. The ploy had been desperate, stuffing a frag grenade into the hole in the terminator's armor, but it had worked.

Korosov stopped himself. He hadn't killed it, not singlehandedly. Bromsson had done most of it. Speaking of which, he turned and saw the man lying unconscious on the ground. His limbs were splayed out awkwardly, and Korosov saw blood running out of the back of his head. He raced over to him and put his hand to his neck. Thankfully there was a pulse.

Korosov leaned back, relieved. He turned to one of the guardsmen, who were warily watching him. "Do any of you have a vox with you?"

One of them raised his hand.

"Call for evac. We need to get him out of here"

As the man started speaking into his now working vox, Korosov turned to Eragon. Any doubts about the mark being genuine had disappeared when Bromsson's wounds had miraculously closed. He was determined to get him out of here.

Saphira sighed in relief. She had seen many strange things in this scrying, but Eragon looked safe for now.

The image she was watching wavered and turned white, then disappeared as the scrying spell ended.

Saphira turned away, more determined than ever to get to her Rider.

Darkness. All was darkness. No, not all. There was some light. And another sensation, pressure on his armpits and arms.

He was faintly annoyed. He did not know why he could not see, and it irritated him. Then he realized. His eyes were shut. He opened them.

The world seemed to tilt around him. Figures in mottled clothing ran around him, heads down, as if trying not to be seen. Looking down, he saw a pair of legs being dragged through the dirt underneath him. Two more pairs were running on either side of him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw green flashes and skeletal figures. The figures seemed to be attacking others, who screamed as they were vaporized. Screamed, both vocally and mentally. Their cries reverberated through his mind, full of fear and horror. He tried to shut them out, but they still came. He closed his eyes to escape back to unconsciousness.

He did.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12

_999 M41_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 1_

_I have decided to keep a journal. This is unusual, I know. Usually it is the librarians who commit information to such records. But even if this never makes it into a librarium, it still allows me to collect my thoughts._

_I stand in a secluded chamber, dictating this to a servitor. It is as private as I can get. My size certainly doesn't help in this matter. Thank the Emperor for the size of His starships._

_I am attached to the Ultramarines 9__th__ company, a company with a long and glorious history. However, it is surely recorded elsewhere and so I shall not bother recording it. Instead, I shall begin with our most recent deployment, to a planet called Antares Tertias, Antares Sector, Segmentum Obscurus. It is a desert mining world, with five hive cities. It is also apparently a Necron Tomb World._

_I should not have used the word is. For now, it is a collection of dead rubble. After we evacuated an Exterminatus was ordered, and the world's integrity is now gone. Hopefully it is enough to have slain the Necrons entombed therein._

_My captain was opposed to the measure, saying that the population should be evacuated. Sinon insisted that we stay and fight, to protect the population. My sad reply was that there was no population to protect. Our starships verified that the foul xenos were emerging worldwide. We were outnumbered and without support, especially since that idiot Gagarin called an evacuation._

_I wish General Ezekiel had stood up to him, at least allowed some of the citizens to be evacuated. But he is a man of no spine, a man born into a privileged life. I wish that the Emperor's servants were less often men like these._

_I have reassured Sinon that there was nothing we could do. I know how he sees himself, as a paladin protecting the weak. He has taken it hard, and I fear he will continue to do so._

_My captain is not the only one I worry for. Our librarian, Codicier Caesar, has withdrawn to himself. It is a pattern that I have noticed since the last Exterminatus we were forced to administer. He shuts himself up in his room and seeks isolation. I shall have to speak with him._

_My last major worry is a man called Eragon Bromsson. He is a man who the Emperor himself has marked. I saw the miracle with my own eyes. Since then he has displayed other miracles. His speed and reflexes are equal to an Astartes. His strength is also enhanced, though not to such a degree. His swordsmanship is superb. My contact, a commissar called Korosov, has informed me that his combat skills are excellent, even killing the Traitor marines who orchestrated the original uprisings in the city New Babylon._

_That being said however, my captain is still suspicious of him. Our imperative to shun and eliminate the mutant has great sway on him. It has great sway on all who call themselves Astartes. I only wish that he had been there to see the miracle._

…

Darkness. All was darkness. Not that Eragon minded. After what he had been through there was a kind of sweet release in this oblivion. No pain, no fear. There was however, the omnipresent longing for Saphira.

Eragon opened his eyes. He was in a room, very dimly lit, lying on a cot. Looking around he saw other cots all in a row. He looked up from this and from the equipment in the room to find a window that ran along the wall facing his cot. Standing in front of it was a giant of a man, wearing blue armor that was covered in seals of some kind.

Eragon frowned. The figure was familiar, though he was escaped him for now.

"Codicier Caesar" the figure said without looking at him.

Eragon nodded as he remembered the Ultramarines librarian. Now that he was more awake he felt the librarian's brief mental probe, before he returned to his own mind.

"Where am I?" Eragon asked.

"The medical wing of the battleship _Majestic_" Caesar answered, still without looking. Eragon slowly sat up and left his cot. He was still bruised, but it no longer hurt nearly so much as it had against Ikardon.

Eragon walked over to the librarian and looked out the window. The scene that greeted him was of pitch darkness that surrounded him. The only thing that could be seen was a lumpy ball of what looked like rocks. It was cracked in several places, and those cracks were illuminated by a red and orange light.

"What is that?" Eragon asked, ever curious.

"Antares Tertias" the librarian replied.

Eragon looked at the irregular sphere in surprise. It was huge, to be sure, but it couldn't be the world of Antares Tertias. It had no deserts, no cities, just barren and scorched rock. Then it hit him. For the world to appear so he had to be at a truly amazing height. He looked at the window in renewed fascination, then turned to the librarian.

"That's the world we were on?" Eragon said in surprise.

"What's left of it," Caesar said quietly.

"What's left of it," Eragon repeated, puzzled.

The librarian gave a long sigh. Then he said "An exterminatus was ordered on the world. We rained fire on it until we destroyed it. This is the result"

Eragon stared. The idea that one could destroy a world was…wrong. How it could even be possible was beyond him.

"Why?" was all he could get out.

"Because if we hadn't, the Necrons would have survived and harvested billions of more lives than they already had" Caesar snapped.

That shut Eragon up. He stared out the window. Then he heard Caesar say "Sometimes many must die for many more to live. It is the way of the universe"

Eragon stared out at the planet, conflicted. So much life had been extinguished in its destruction. But if the librarian was to be trusted, then more life would have been snuffed out if the planet had survived. He looked at the librarian, conflicted. Caesar sighed, probably feeling what he was feeling.

"Extend your mind" he said.

"What?" Eragon asked, nonplussed.

"Extend your mind as far as you can" Caesar repeated. Confused, Eragon did so. He lowered the barriers of his mind and let his perception flood outward. He felt the codicier's mind but passed over it. He felt other minds, a multitude of them, guardsmen, the ship's crew, and some of the Astartes. Most were sleeping, and only a few felt his intrusion. Eragon moved on.

Further and further he pressed himself, until his perception extended outside the ship. Distantly he could hear a choir of voices, voices that were so perfect and angelic that Eragon surged in their direction, eagerly searching for them. But the distance was far too great, and Eragon was forced to give up his search.

It was then that he became aware of another noise. It was indistinct at first, but it slowly grew in volume. Eragon listened, and realized it was laughter, the most terrible laughter he had ever heard. It was like an outpouring of glee and malice that flooded the universe. Eragon shrank before it, but the laughter continued, growing louder.

Eragon began to make out individual laughs amongst the cacophony. One was low and brutish, and interspersed with shouts of rage so deep it defied mortal understanding. One was the most revolting sound he had ever heard, gurgling, coughing sound that conjured images of pox and other terrible plagues. One was like a small chorus, a loud laugh leading it with a series of other voices all laughing and shrieking their glee to the universe. And one was a strange dichotomy, a voice fairer than any he had heard before, but filled with such malice that Durza himself would have cringed before it.

All of these awful voices laughed and laughed, their glee flooding the galaxy.

Eragon yelled and started, his mind fleeing back to his own body. As soon as he was in he slammed up the strongest mental walls he could, and prayed he never heard those voices again.

He saw the codicier staring at him, and he asked "What were those things?"

"The dark gods, the gods of Chaos" he answered. He continued "It is they who would see the end of humanity, they and innumerable others who would drive us to extinction. Know that all forces in the galaxy hate us, and so it is that we fight them. That and by the order of the immortal Emperor, who is the only force that would have it otherwise"

Eragon shuddered. To have enemies like that and more…he was starting to regret his curiosity. He turned away and went back to his cot, hoping to seek oblivion in sleep again. He collapsed on the bed, and quickly fell asleep.

Hours later, Eragon awoke. The room was now illuminated, and Eragon could see a couple of Sisters Hospitlar moving about.

"Finally, you're awake" a stern voice said. Eragon turned in the direction of the voice and saw Commissar Korosov standing there. The wounds he had sustained were scars now, and he had cleaned his uniform up.

"Korosov?" Eragon asked.

"Indeed. Now, can you walk?"

"Yes"

"Then arise and follow me. The Ultramarines wish to see you"

Eragon sat up and arose from his bed. He cast a brief glance through the window and saw the remains of Antares Tertias still floating in an expanse of utter blackness. He still couldn't fathom the possibility of Exterminatus. He shuddered, thinking of other events that had happened last night.

Eragon turned away from the sight and followed Korosov out of the room. They emerged into a narrow hallway and turned left. They passed many more doors on their journey that Korosov ignored. Sometimes they met other guardsmen in the hallways, but more often they met crewmembers. A few were dressed in more formal uniforms and carried weapons that Korosov identified as shotguns.

Once they passed a strange kind of being that Eragon had never seen before. It had the general size and shape of a man, but it didn't look like a man. Rather, it was a fusion of flesh and metal components. It shuffled along, intent on some goal, and spoke no words to Eragon and Korosov. Korosov didn't acknowledge it at all.

Once it was out of earshot Eragon asked "What manner of being was that?"

Korosov looked at him incredulously, before a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "A servitor" he answered.

"What is it?"

Korosov appeared to consider something for a few seconds, before saying "A servitor is a being augmented with technology and programmed to serve"

"Programmed?" Eragon asked, horrified.

Korosov stopped and looked at him. "Usually they are merely artificial beings with no will to begin with. The rest are criminals or those already born with no will"

Eragon protested "But you still turn real people into monsters. It's barbaric, even for criminals"

Korosov's expression darkened for a second, and his hand twitched, and then he asked "And how is such a fate worse than the death sentence they would suffer otherwise?"

Eragon thought about it, and then backed down. Korosov's expression softened, and he turned away and continued down the hall. Eragon followed. Criminals they may have been, but the servitor's existence was still disturbing.

They continued through the labyrinthine battleship, through numerous corridors and upstairs until Eragon had lost track of the path they had taken. They spoke not a word, Eragon still mulling over the servitors as well as the laughter he had heard last night. He was not too deep in thought however to notice when they emerged into a gigantic room. It seemed to be some sort of training room. Soldiers were everywhere exercising, shooting at targets, or just standing around chatting. Eragon saw that some sections had been cordoned off for different types of practice. Some even seemed to boast self-contained environments. The nearest one was a tree filled setting that looked similar to the forests of the Spine.

Korosov led him through the room, obviously searching for something. He soon found it, and bade Eragon to follow him. Eragon looked and saw Dreadnought Ullmar standing some distance away. Around him were more of the Ultramarines.

Eragon followed Korosov to the space marines. As they passed the other guardsmen Eragon turned to see their reactions. They stopped their activities and whispered to one another. Some still glared at him, but others looked speculative as they saw him. Still others stared at him in wonder. One of them waved.

Eragon was glad when they reached the Ultramarines. Hopefully their presence would be enough to deflect some of the attention aimed at him. Eragon looked around at the group and recognized the apothecary, librarian, sergeant Valentinian, and Captain Sinon. Sinon was already facing Eragon, light gleaming off of the three metal studs embedded above his eyes.

"Bromsson" he said in greeting.

"Captain" Eragon replied.

The captain turned to Korosov. "Thank you for bringing him"

Korosov gave a slight bow and backed off. He didn't leave however, and stood a small distance off to watch. Sinon turned back to Eragon.

"You have recovered then?" he asked.

"Yes" Eragon affirmed.

"Good" he looked at him, his eyes studying him intensely. Eragon found himself uncomfortable in the superhuman's stare. Sinon then said "We have heard about the miracle"

"The miracle?" Eragon asked, confused.

Sinon frowned. "The miracle that happened in your combat against the Chaos lord. You were healed, were you not?"

Eragon nodded. "Yes, I was" he said, still uncertain about what had happened.

"Did you work that act?"

"No, I did not"

Sinon looked disappointed, then looked at the mark on Eragon's forehead. He seemed to draw solace from it, and then continued "We do not know what it was that healed you, but we will not take chances with it. We will test you again"

"You already did. Why do it again?"

"Where sorcery is concerned there is always a risk of mutation"

Eragon immediately started to worry. He had not considered mutation to be a factor. He didn't feel any different, and his abilities had seemed the same, but there was still the possibility. He knew so little about mutation.

"We will begin with sparring" Sinon said, interrupting Eragon's thoughts. "You will face Valentinian this time"

Eragon nodded. He took up his sword but didn't activate it. Sinon looked at Valentinian, and the other marine walked forward, also readying a sword. Eragon and the marine took up postions across from each other and leveled their weapons to the ready position. Eragon thought back to when he had fought Sinon before, and the lessons he had learned then.

"Ready. Begin" the captain ordered.

They circled slowly, weapons held high, looking for a weakness. Eragon considered making the first move, but decided against it. Valentinian leapt forward, his sword going in for a stab. Eragon bent past the blow and tried to counterstrike, but was forced backwards when the sergeant swept his sword to the side. Eragon ducked and returned the favor, slashing at the marine's knees.

Displaying his formidable strength, Valentinian leapt over Eragon's blade, then swept his sword down. Eragon parried and redirected the blow.

The battle between them raged. Once again it was Eragon's agility versus the space marine's strength. Out of the corner of his eye Eragon noticed a crowd gathering, watching the duel. Some of the rowdier guardsmen started cheering or booing in equal measure. In particular, Eragon noticed some men who were wearing heavier armor than the others, and wore face masks that were molded into their helmets. He didn't spare them much thought though, and devoted more of his attention to the duel.

Valentinian was good, but he was not as good as his captain. He often relied on his superior might instead of form, and Eragon could see that his own skill slightly outmatched the marine's. But the strength difference was too much. Eventually, Valentinian cornered Eragon in front of Ullmar. He trapped their blades between them, then forcefully twisted Eragon's sword out of his hand. The battered chainsword clattered to the ground.

Eragon put his hands up in surrender, and Valentinian stepped back.

"Good duel" Sinon said, "Although your swordmanship could use some work sergeant"

"My apologies, captain" Valentinian replied, sounding chastised. The captain turned to Eragon.

"Your physical abilities do not seem to have changed, although your skill has improved"

Eragon shrugged. "I practiced" he said.

"Indeed" Sinon watched as Eragon bent to retrieve his sword. For his part, Eragon resolved to see a tech priest for his rather damaged weapon.

"We shall also need to scan your mind again" Sinon continued, almost apologetically. Eragon turned to him with a scowl.

"Is it necessary?" he asked.

"Yes" Sinon replied firmly.

Eragon sighed, but he opened his mind all the same. He was cautious now, only opening it as far as he needed to. He did not want to hear those voices again.

_You will need to get used to them to psyk_ Codicier Caesar said mentally.

Eragon felt the librarian search his mind, going through every memory. He then withdrew and Eragon was left alone in his own head.

"Well?" he asked.

The librarian looked at him, evidently not willing to grace him with an answer. He turned to his fellow Astartes and walked to them.

"We have finished. You may go" Sinon said.

Eragon turned and walked away, frustrated. He walked past Korosov, who started following him. Eragaon looked back and saw the space marines walking away. He also saw one of the masked soldiers still staring at him with his unnerving face piece. Eragon looked away just as the masked soldier turned around and walked off.

...

The room was large. This was rather fitting, considering it had been an officer's quarters before its current occupant had taken it. But where one would have expected opulence in the room of such an important officer, there was none. The decorations had been stripped, the chandelier replaced with standard military lighting, and the ancient literature replaced with reports and documents. It was not a room befitting a senior officer. But it suited Lord Commissar Alexi Gagarin. Such wasteful luxuries were best left with those who appreciated them, like his general.

Right now, the lord commissar was leaning back behind his desk. He was surprised, to say the least. "You want the Ultramarine's mutant?" he asked.

The storm trooper standing in front of him nodded. Gagarin tried to look past the mask on her face, but it was as implacable as the rest of her carapace armor.

"Why?" the lord commissar asked. It was unthinkable that a storm trooper, born and raised as a sworn servant of the Emperor, would want the possibly sorcerous mutant that the Guard now harbored.

"I need an assault specialist. My last one was killed in the xenos' attack" the trooper deadpanned.

"Then take a veteran, or requisition another storm trooper"

"He is the best there is"

_Of course_. Alexi growled to himself as he scanned the file a servitor had placed before him. Arana Dare may have been a storm trooper, trained by the Schola Progenum, but she was Catachan in birth. She also had a competitive streak a mile wide, one that the servitor had noted was recently displayed against another storm trooper squad, Alpha Squad. And she was ambitious, noted for seeking to climb the ranks. She wanted to use the mutant to improve her squad's standings and so mark her for promotion. And that was not an attitude a servant to the Emperor should have about such filth.

It was like a disease. First the Ultramarines caught it, now one of his best storm troopers was affected.

Of course, the mutant had defeated a Chaos terminator and assisted in killing a Chaos lord. He shook those thoughts from his head. It was a mutant, pure and simple.

"No" he said curtly.

"Why not?" Dare asked.

"It's a mutant, a mutant that would be dead by now if the Ultramarines hadn't protected it"

"But while they are we might as well get some use out of it"

The lord commissar glared at her. The storm trooper added "If he looks like he will betray us then I will kill him myself"

The commissar considered, then said "Oh very well, take him" With any luck the storm troopers' more risky assignments would get the mutant killed.

…

_999 M41_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 2_

_A troubling thing is happening. We are disobeying the Codex Astartes. It is necessary, yes, but it still weighs heavily on my heart to violate Guilliman's holy writ._

_The bulk of the company is departing for Ultramar. Our numbers are diminished and we are in need of new recruits to bolster it. Hopefully some initiates are ready for service in the 9__th__ company._

_Where the violation lies is in the fact that a few of us are staying with the Eris detachment. There are three of us: myself, Techmarine Galens Vicinius, and Codicier Camillus Caesar. I was chosen for my interest in the reason for our deviation, the librarian for his astropathic abilities, and the techmarine to keep my sarcophagus in working order (though I suspect that he is also here to be a more skeptical spectator to these events)._

_We three are to watch over Eragon Bromsson, to continue our test for him._

_I must admit, I am surprised by recent events. He has apparently been transferred to a storm trooper squad by the leader's request. Perhaps I have underestimated his notoriety after helping to kill a Chaos lord. I am equally surprised that it was Lord Commissar Gagarin that allowed it. However, it does not surprise me that the general was uninvolved with this transfer. Our commanding officer, for all of his titles, is a lazy, ineffective officer. It is Gagarin who runs the army._

_Our forces go to assist an Explorator fleet. Apparently they have recovered evidence of an STC in the Veiled Region of Segmentum Pacificus. I cannot say I look forward to this venture without trepidation. The Veiled Region is a vast, dangerous wilderness region of the segmentum. Librarian Caesar has informed me that what it is known for is radiation and the ork pirates who make their home there. I feel these soldiers would be better used fighting His enemies than dying in a remote region for some ancient artifact. But it is not my place to complain. I go now._

_We will arrive at our destination in two weeks. I can only hope that my worries will be for nothing when we arrive there._

…

Eragon followed Korosov down the hallway. It had been one day since his second test with the Ultramarines. He had spent his time afterwards training and exploring the battleship. He still found it incredible that there were ships that sailed between the stars themselves, and he was eager to see more of it.

Now he was following Korosov and a junior Guard bureaucrat to his new squad's quarters.

Korosov looked displeased. His countenance was dark and brooding, and he glared out from under his peaked officer's hat.

"What is the matter?" Eragon dared to ask. Korosov slowly turned to look at Eragon, who wished he had not asked the question. He mumbled "Sorry" and the commissar turned away.

They reached the vast training room of the battleship. At this late hour there were only a few guardsmen still training, the rest having retired to their quarters. The lights had dimmed, although he could still see area's marked out for melee practice and lasgun maintenance. They passed several small practice environments, including craggy rocks and a jungle.

It took several minutes to reach the other end of the room, during which no one spoke a word. As they reached a door, Eragon felt the urge to ask something boil over.

"What are storm troopers?" he asked, directing his question to the orderly. The orderly was about to answer, but Korosov beat him to it.

"They are the elite of the Imperial Guard. Taken and trained by the Schola Progenum to be the best as humanly possible. They are given missions deemed too dangerous or too sensitive for regular guardsmen"

"Sensitive?" Eragon queried.

"Infiltration, attacking from behind the lines" Korosov stopped and turned to Eragon. His gaze was utterly serious. "You need to know something. These men are trained their whole lives to be living weapons. I've seen your capabilities, and while they are impressive, they are not on par with a storm trooper's" He scowled. "I don't know what they were thinking, sending you to a storm trooper squad. You should have been sent to Adeptus Astra Telepathica. With potential like yours you could be a primaris psyker"

Korosov stopped abruptly and turned away. He seemed to have caught himself going beyond some boundary. He resumed walking forward, albeit with a quicker pace. Eragon followed, thinking about what the commissar had said. Men who had trained their whole lives to be warriors, with skills beyond his own. What manner of men these were was beyond Eragon. What condition they would be in psychologically he did not know, but it was enough to worry him.

They stopped in front of a door, one that Eragon recognized as a dormitory door. The orderly who had led them here knocked. No one answered for a moment, then the door slid open and a woman walked out. Eragon was surprised, but not overly so. Apparently the Imperium, like the elves, had no problems with women serving as soldiers.

The woman was of average height, with short blond hair that didn't even reach her shoulders. She wasn't bulky from it, but Eragon could tell she was muscular to a degree. Her features were pretty, but the effect was not so great as her stare. Eragon saw her ice blue eyes rake him. She blinked, then opened the door further.

"Captain, here is the guardsman you requisitioned" the orderly said.

"I can see that" the woman replied. She looked at Eragon again and then turned to Korosov. "Captain Arana Dare" she said.

"Commissar Yuri Korosov" the commissar replied.

The captain then turned to Eragon and asked "Name?"

"Pri…Corporal Eragon Bromsson" Eragon replied, stating his recent promotion.

"Captain Arana Dare, squad leader of Beta Squad" She turned to Korosov and the orderly and said "You may leave"

Korosov arched an eyebrow, but he turned around and left, the orderly following. Eragon found himself wishing the commissar would stay a little longer. Yes, he was demanding and strict, but he was also a familiar figure who had stayed at Eragon's side when all others had failed in the sewers.

"The squad quarters is on the other side of the hall" Eragon's new squad leader stated, interrupting his thoughts. He looked to his leader, only to see her shut the door. Eragon stood, staring at it. What he had seen of his leader so far did not inspire his confidence. Being brief and to the point had its virtues. Disinterest in one's followers did not.

Eragon walked away from his commanding officer's room to the squad's quarters. He paused, wondering if he should knock, then shrugged and opened the room.

It was barely larger than his old squad's tent had been. It's walls were grey metal, like so much of the battleship's other rooms and hallways. Bunks were lined along the walls, stacked in twos. Most of the squad appeared to be in prayer. The only one who wasn't was a man whose blond hair was cropped close to his scalp.

All of them glanced at Eragon as soon as the door opened. Many continued to look at him, studying him with intense stares. Their expressions were neutral, although Eragon thought he detected a bit of coldness in them.

Eragon entered the room and looked for a place to stow his gear. Some of the storm troopers turned back to their devotionals while others continued to stare at him. Eragon, uncomfortable with their stares, quickly found his bunk and stored his equipment by it, including his heavy bolter and his new carapace armor. He was pleased with the increased protection his new armor provided, and he was becoming used to the heavy bolter.

He still disliked it though.

He looked around again, hoping that the hostile stares of his squad mates had abated. They had, with the exception of one man. He looked to be in his forties, with a lined face and short blond hair that was shot through with grey. He seemed to be thinking about something. Apparently he reached his decision, since he then stood up and walked over to Eragon. Unlike with the others, Eragon didn't sense any hostility from him. It was more like disbelief.

"So you're the new assault specialist" he stated more than asked. His tone was flat, giving nothing away.

"Yes, I am" Eragon said.

"Lieutenant Leman Russ" the storm trooper said.

"Corporal Eragon Bromsson"

"Report to me tomorrow morning" he ordered. And with that, he turned around and left.

The first thing Eragon heard the following morning was a man's voice shouting "Up you pansy!"

A fist seized Eragon and, before the new storm trooper could react, yanked him off of his bunk. He fell a short distance before impacting on the metal floor of the room.

"Finally. You sleep like a drugged grox"

"I do not!" Eragon retorted, stung.

Leman Russ snorted. "Could have fooled me. Now get up"

Eragon got up. Once he would have rebelled at the situation of being ordered around like so. But weeks in the Guard had changed that. One obeyed, and quickly, or one paid. What worried Eragon more was the behavior directed towards him. He had hoped for a little more camaraderie from his squad mates, but it seemed he would be disappointed. He realized he would have to prove himself again.

"Follow me" Russ ordered. Eragon followed the storm trooper out of the door of the room. The other storm troopers were already up and gathering their equipment. Eragon watched them as he walked out the door before the door shut behind him.

They walked through the hallways until they reached the enormous gymnasium that seemed to dominated the Guardsmen's training. Russ stopped and turned around.

"Right, what are your skills?" he said bluntly

Eragon considered for a moment, and then said "Sword fighting and psyking"

Russ' face momentarily contorted into a snarl before subsiding. Eragon sighed. It seemed the Imperium was as superstitious about magicians and magic as some parts of Alagaesia were.

"Is that it?" Russ asked, looking disappointed.

"I can shoot" Eragon said defensively.

"Show me" Russ ordered. Eragon looked around for the nearest practice range. He soon found it, a line of men shooting down marked alleyways at targets. Russ seemed disdainful of the simple practice range, but he showed no other emotions as he watched Eragon fire at the targets with his heavy bolter.

Eragon returned after shooting a few bursts. "Well?" he asked.

"You shoot as well as any guardsman, and it isn't good enough" Russ said flatly.

"I hit the target" Eragon said defensively.

Russ snorted derisively. "You hit a stationary target a couple of times out of, what, twelve rounds of ammo?"

"Well you try handling…" Eragon started to retort.

"What if you were fighting Eldar? They would have dodged you and you would be dead. A Traitor Astartes will take more than a couple of bolts, but you only take one to die. You miss, and you are dead"

"What's it matter to you how I shoot?" Eragon asked, stung.

Russ opened his mouth, then closed it, considering. He then opened it again and spoke. "Son, let me tell you a secret: your captain does not give a lick whether you live or die, as long as you follow orders. Dare may be a prodigy, but all she cares about is rank advancement. If you don't perform to her expectations you will be dead, one way or another.

"Right now, I am the only one who cares whether you live or die in our squad, now LISTEN UP!" The last words were shouted at him.

Eragon's shoulders drooped as he realized the storm trooper was right. It fit with what he had seen of his squad and his new leader. He was in a very precarious position, and he had to be careful.

"Why do you care?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because you are a squad member" Russ replied gruffly, "And I look out for my brothers" He gave a barking laugh. "That and I'm a bit of an outsider myself. If I didn't fight so well I think Dare would have kicked me out long ago" He looked at Eragon. "Now, let's look at your shooting"

With that, Russ started walking back to the range. Eragon followed him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 13

The sky was mostly a dark blue, with some stray clouds that inched ever so slowly toward the horizon. The trees that filled the area blocked most of the light thrown out by the setting sun. What light there was filtered down through the branches in orange shafts that illuminated parts of the ground.

A small herd of deer had stopped to graze. Though still alert for predators, they were confident enough to stop their trek for the sake of satisfying their hunger. It seemed there were no enemies in the area. This confidence however was shattered by the sound of a twig snapping. Almost as one the herd's heads came up and wildly scanned the area, looking for the source of the noise.

It was too late. A small rock, propelled by magic, hurtled out from behind a bush and collided with a buck's head. Traveling at such a speed it passed clean through its skull. The buck collapsed. Heeding the danger, the rest of the deer bolted from the area.

As they ran, a tall man emerged calmly from the bush where the projectile had originated from. His face was framed by brown hair, which surrounded eyes that spoke of suffering more pain than life had a right to inflict on a person. Despite this, he possessed a confident gait as he strode towards the body of the deer he had just slain.

Murtagh knelt beside his slain target. It's antlers weren't worthy to decorate the walls of the meanest hall, but the animal itself was large, which meant plenty of food for the days to come. As his eyes raked his prey he saw the hole in the beast's head where the rock had passed through its skull. The brain was now certainly spoiled, but Murtagh had never cared for brain anyway.

He grasped the carcass and lifted it over his shoulder, then turned around and started retracing his steps to the clearing about half a mile from his current location. A normal man would have taken a long time indeed to go even half a mile with such a burden. But Murtagh had surpassed such standards. Even without the eldunari there was only one man alive who could best him. And even that was debatable.

Murtagh's feet crunched against the fallen needles and twigs as he broke into a jog, though his was faster than a regular human's run. As he ran, he kept his mind open, scanning the area around him for any sign of a threat. He had lost his freedom to an ambush once before. And he had only accumulated enemies since then. He could never be so careless again.

It took mere minutes for him to reach the clearing he was currently camping in. As he emerged from the line of trees he did not bother to look around for Thorn, his mind already feeling his absence. So he was still away hunting. Murtagh smiled. If only Thorn had gone in the same direction he had his dragon could have made a feast of the deer he had found. As it was, it looked as though he was not so fortunate.

Murtagh set his burden down and went about the business of butchering it. Thank goodness he had grabbed a knife when he had left Uru Baen all those months ago. He soon finished and, with a muttered word, started a fire.

The meat was promptly spitted and then left to hang over the fire, which by now was the only source of light he had. It didn't matter for his eyesight though.

Murtagh stared into the flames, thinking about his self-imposed exile. He had left to isolate himself, to get away from a world that hated him, and which he quite frankly did not care much for either. He had not been lying about the urge he felt to strike out against a world that had thoroughly abused him. He had been relieved that his half-brother understood this, and had let him go. But after months of solitude, he found that he was starting to miss his kind.

It was completely irrational. Aside from a few exceptions there was not a single being in Alagaesia that did not think him a villain. But still…he shook himself. No, it was best if he was left to his own devices.

Besides, he thought as he finally felt Thorn's presence approaching, as long as he had his dragon he was never alone. Murtagh smiled, then stiffened as he felt another pair of minds closing in on his location. One felt familiar, while the other was a stranger to him.

Murtagh put his hand on his sword. He did not care who was coming. He was not ready to go back to Alagaesia, and he would not be brought back without a fight.

Murtagh readied his mental defenses, then noticed that Thorn was not reacting to the minds. Either he hadn't felt them, or he knew that they weren't hostile.

His suspicions were confirmed when Thorn touched his mind. _Relax, my rider_ he said in his musical voice, _they mean us no harm_.

_Are you…did you…are you leading them to me?_

_Yes._ The answer sounded almost apologetic. And for good reason, Murtagh thought angrily.

_Why on earth would you do that?!_ Murtagh demanded.

_Saphira needs our help_.

That gave Murtagh a pause. It was understandable that Thorn would relent their exile for the female, but why Saphira wanted him was a mystery to the rider. He extended his mind out and studied the minds more closely. The one that was familiar turned out to be Saphira herself. The other one belonged to a person Murtagh had never encountered before. At least, he did not think he had.

Thorn appeared above the clearing. He swooped down and landed behind Murtagh. Saphira soon followed, landing across from Murtagh on the other side of the fire. Murtagh looked at her and saw that her rider was a short, curly haired woman, who undid the straps tying her to the saddle. Saphira crouched, and the woman jumped down. Murtagh studied her warily. She made no move to unsheathe the sword at her belt, but Murtagh was not reassured.

Wary though he was, he was also confused. Saphira was here, but Eragon wasn't. It was almost unfathomable for the dragon to be without her rider. Either Eragon had found a way to hide his presence, which Murtagh doubted, or he was away on other business. That didn't seem likely either. Murtagh forced the matter aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

"Are you here to capture me" he asked warily, his hand on Zar'roc's pommel, ready to yank it out for a fight.

"I am not here to capture or fight you in any way" the woman answered in the Ancient Language. Murtagh relaxed slightly, but did not allow his guard to come down.

"Really Murtagh, is this how you treat a pair of friends? You look as if you've seen a rabbit Shade" the woman asked, absolutely unaffected by Murtagh's threatening stance.

"I don't know you" Murtagh stated.

"Yes you do" the woman responded. "Think back to Tronjhiem, after the battle for Farthen Dur"

Murtagh did so. It took him a moment, but then he remembered. "You were the healer that tended to Eragon after he slew Durza"

"Correct. My name is Angela" Angela beamed at him.

"Why are you here?"

"That is Saphira's tale to tell" Angela said, and looked to the blue dragon. Saphira started forward and said _Murtagh, I need your help._

"No" Murtagh said promptly.

_What?_

"I said no" Murtagh said.

_I haven't even told you what I need!_

"I don't care. I told you and Eragon that I wanted to be alone. Did you think I did not mean it?" Murtagh said angrily. He saw Angela cast a significant look to Saphira, who did not seem to acknowledge it. "Where is Eragon anyway? Did he not approve of you coming to me?"

_He's been kidnapped!_ Saphira said in a rush, as if desperate for Murtagh not to interrupt her.

Murtagh leaned forward, surprised. His half-brother was a formidable warrior, so if he had been captured it was by a very, very capable force. "Do you know who did it?" he asked, in spite of himself.

Saphira sent the relevant images across to him. Murtagh watched her recollection of a four armed serpent that attacked Eragon's escorts and carried him off. He watched as Saphira followed, trying to rescue her rider, only to watch helplessly as it disappeared through a strange arch. Saphira ended the recollection there. _That is all I know_ she said sorrowfully. _No one else has been able to help me, aside from Angela._

Murtagh looked to the healer. Angela stood and said "Know this Murtagh. The cosmos is a lot bigger than many know. I fear that Eragon may be caught up in its designs"

Murtagh shrugged the statement aside, then considered the images Saphira had presented to him. Most were novel to him, but one of them had triggered a memory.

"Show me the arch again" he ordered.

Saphira did so, sending an image of the arch across to him. It appeared to be made out of some kind of webbed material, delicately stretched into curves. It was much like architecture Murtagh had seen once before.

"I've seen ruins like this arch before" he said slowly.

_Where?_ Saphira asked.

"East of the Hadarac Desert" he replied.

_Can you take us there?_

Murtagh paused, considering. He looked to Thorn, who said nothing. Murtagh looked away and stared into the fire. Months may have passed since the day he liberated himself from Galbatorix, but the mental wounds he had sustained were still there, still aching. On the other hand, it would temporarily alleviate his loneliness without the cost of the persecution that his return to Alagaesia would inevitably cause. Murtagh made up his mind.

"Yes, I'll take you there" he said. "But" he continued, cutting the dragoness off, "You must swear to me that you will not attempt to take me back to the kingdom when we are done. My and Thorn's part ends once you have reached the ruins"

"Before we agree to this" Angela said, "Will you at least help us translate what we find there?"

"Very well. I will"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 14

_999 M41_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 3_

_We have finally arrived at our destination. In the Veiled Region of Segmentum Pacificus there lies a star system called Ceta. It is a binary, with a regular star and a neutron star orbiting each other, the second pulling gas off of the first. Even now my sensors can see it, flashing with radiation as it spins in space._

_Thankfully our search will not be at this star. Instead, it shall be at a Death World called Ceta Prime. It is a planet of average size, mostly covered by jungles. Those regions that aren't are wastelands, remnants of some long forgotten war._

_Already there are forces deployed to this world: Catachan jungle fighters and Mechanicus Skitarii legions. Even titans have been deployed in the search for the STC. But most prominent amongst the forces there are the Angels Encarmine chapter deployed here. A full company has joined the search for the STC._

_During my spare time (which is copious in my present position) I have looked in on Bromsson. Nearly every time I have seen him he is training. Apparently I am not the only one who has noticed his deficiency in combat skills. His swordsmanship may be excellent, but his aim needs training, among other things._

_Korosov, to my surprise, has stepped in with Eragon's training. He, along with a man named Leman Russ, have trained him mercilessly, day and night. I have seen them clash often over how to best go about their task. I also have stepped in at times, though I have never participated actively in his combat simulations. It would not do for him to become dependent on my presence._

_Considering the amount of time we have had, Bromsson has learned very fast indeed, faster than any unaugmented human could hope to. It must be another enhancement made by the Emperor._

Eragon crouched behind a large tree, his heavy bolter cradled in his hands. He wore a full set of carapace armor, including armored gauntlets with pitons welded to them. Yet another oddity for him, but it was one he was coming to appreciate.

He peeked out from behind cover, and immediately pulled his head back as his opponents sent a withering hail of fire at him. He ran out from his cover in the other direction, his supernatural speed protecting him from fire. Not pausing to slow down he dove behind another tree and slammed his pitons into its trunk, else his momentum would have carried him out from behind his cover. His arms strained as the pitons dug into the bark.

The pitons did their work, stopping Eragon. Steadying himself, he pulled his heavy bolter around and waited. The cracking sound of Russ' hellgun was soon joined by the retort of Korosov's bolt pistol. His opponents turned around, distracted as some of their number began to fall.

It was just what Eragon needed. He sprinted out from his cover and charged the gaggle of soldiers down. Holding his gun steady he let off a controlled burst of fire that downed three of them, and then dropped his gun and charged the rest of the way with his sword ready. By the time his opponents finally reacted it was too late. Eragon was amongst them, hacking and slashing right and left, each hand holding a weapon. He dodged a blow and lopped his opponents arm off, then ducked another blow and stabbed with one chainsword while the other slashed a soldier's stomach out. More shots rang out as his compatriots continued their fire, albeit more cautiously now that Eragon was amongst their targets. Then a new sound was heard, a voice that called out "End simulation"

The last two servitor controlled drones stiffened and froze as Eragon got out of his combat stance, confused. While this group of drones was certainly ravaged the simulation was far from over. He looked around and saw his two companions, Korosov and Russ, walk out from their positions. Korosov looked as confused as Eragon, while Russ looked peeved.

"Who called an end to that?" Russ demanded.

"I did" the new voice continued. Out strode another figure, one of Eragon's squad mates called Tzu Shen.

"What the hell was that for Shen?" Russ asked. "Do you know how hard it is to get a simulation like this?" he said, gesturing around him.

"The captain has called a briefing" Shen answered calmly. "We are to report to Lord Commissar Gagarin's office"

Muttering abuse under his breath, Russ turned and stalked to the edge of the jungle simulation. Eragon turned to Korosov, who motioned for Eragon to follow. Eragon turned away and left, pausing only to recover the heavy bolter he had dropped in his charge. He soon emerged from the jungle section and stopped to stomp the mud from his boots. As he did so, some of the passing guardsmen gave him some odd looks, but Eragon was used to their stares by now.

Eragon looked around and spotted Russ, who was motioning impatiently for Eragon to follow. Eragon jogged over to him, and the two made their way out of the colossal training room.

After two weeks aboard the battleship Eragon could at least navigate his way through the corridors around the barracks. As they came around a bend he realized that they were heading towards the senior officers' quarters. Eragon took a second to register his concern. Some of those men downright hated him, he knew. He shoved the worries aside. He'd lasted this long, so to worry now was senseless.

They passed only a few of the officers in the hallways. Some of them wore fatigues similar to those of the guardsmen, whereas others wore elaborate and undoubtedly expensive uniforms. Maybe they had a place, Eragon thought, but certainly not on a battlefield. A couple of the officers shot Eragon glares. Eragon did not bother to acknowledge them.

They continued until they came to a door marked _Lord Commissar A. Gagarin_. Russ pushed the door open and walked inside. Eragon followed.

The room was Spartan, to say the least. As Eragon's eyes raked the room, he saw none of the opulence he knew some of the senior officer's preferred. The walls were bare, except for shelves containing military documents. The lighting was similar to the illuminators used in the field. Even the desk that the man himself sat behind was plain. Eragon begrudgingly allowed a small increase in his respect for the lord commissar.

Gagarin's eyes looked over the newcomers. When his eyes met Eragon's he saw the man's lip curl. Eragon did his best to appear neutral despite the commissar's overt hostility.

Other storm troopers were in the room already. Eragon recognized his captain, along with the rest of Beta squad. He also recognized members of Alpha squad, the premier squad of the Eris regiments and Beta's bitter rivals. Well, Eragon amended; they were his captain's bitter rivals. Other members of Beta squad couldn't have cared less. Like Russ had once remarked, they were all storm troopers.

"Now that we are all finally together" Gagarin began, "Let us begin"

He spread a map out on his desk. The assembled storm troopers gathered around and studied it. Eragon's first impression was of a blasted wasteland. In the middle of the map there was a fortress.

"The Magos in command of the search has highlighted this fortress as a possible location of the STC. Apparently it is giving off a unique radiation signature. It is also infested with orks"

Eragon's ears quirked. He had heard the other guardsmen tell tales of the greenskins. Apparently he was about to get a chance to meet them and see which of those tales were true.

"Now, we can't shell the place with an orbital bombardment or artillery, else the magos will have our heads for possibly damaging the STC. Therefore the main attack will be an infantry assault. To make this work, we'll need to destroy the warboss. That is your mission"

Gagarin let what he had just said sink in, then continued "Tomorrow you will be airlifted from the _Majestic_ to Ceta Prime. You will be dropped into the fortress via Valkyrie. Regroup from there, find the warboss, and assassinate him. Stealth is your greatest ally in this venture. Remember that. You are all dismissed, except for the captains"

The assembled storm troopers turned around and left. Eragon turned to Leman Russ and asked "What does he want with the captain?"

"He's gonna give her more briefing. And he'll probably tell her to keep a lid on her grudge. Come on, let's work on your grav-chuting"

…

Eragon sat in the Valkyrie's bench. His heavy bolter was cradled in his hands, and his grav-chute equipment was fixed on his carapace armor. His chainswords were strapped to his hips, and a combat knife joined the grenades also on his belt. Eragon felt like a miniature walking arsenal, and hoped that his mobility would not be too impaired by it all.

Russ settled beside him, his grav-chute also ready. His hellgun was slung for now, but judging from the look of anticipation on Russ' face he could barely wait to bring it out and fire. The lieutenant, Eragon had surmised, was one of those warriors who felt a wild joy in combat and felt no guilt about it whatsoever. He was rather like Saphira in that.

Eragon's sighed as he thought of his dragon. He found that he was missing her more and more as time went on. He still hoped that he could see her again, but by now was resigned to the terrible fact that if he did, it would not be anytime soon.

Russ apparently noticed Eragon's despair, because he slapped Eragon on the back and said "Come on Bromsson. We're about to fight a warboss!"

Eragon managed a weak smile. Trust Russ to be excited for a fight.

The last member of Beta squad loaded himself into the vehicle, and the door shut behind him. Eragon heard the door's mechanisms lock. Then a whining sound started, which soon intensified into a scream as the Valkyrie's engines started up. Eragon felt the aircraft lift off of the hanger floor, then it started forward and left the battleship's hanger.

For many minutes there was only the roar of the engines as the Valkyrie continued its sojourn to the planet's surface. Then he heard a low rumbling as it hit the atmosphere, and the hold was filled with the creaking and groaning of metal as the stress of atmospheric entry took its toll on the aircraft.

The rumbling grew in volume for some time, before eventually quieting down. Eragon supposed they were getting close to the surface by now. His suspicions were confirmed when Captain Dare shouted "Ten minutes to drop!"

Russ turned to Eragon. "Stay as close to me as you can" he ordered. Eragon nodded, nervous. He may have liked to fly, but he felt rather dubious about the grav-chute he was using. Yes, he had practiced with it, but not from the altitude they were going to work with in this mission.

Soon Eragon heard the Valkyrie's screaming lessen as it slowed down. The door opened and a light flashed.

"Jump!" the captain ordered.

One by one, the storm troopers jumped out of the Valkyrie. Eragon followed Russ off his bench and out of the door into the night sky.

The air was cold, but not unbearably so. Eragon spread his limbs out to slow his fall down. His cheeks ballooned out as air rushed into them. He no longer felt any nervousness, instead feeling exhilaration as he fell. He looked around and managed to spot the other troopers from his as well as Alpha Squad. All of them were in similar positions, with their limbs splayed out as they continued their descent.

Eragon looked down to see that he was a few thousand feet in the air. The surrounding land was unmistakably wasteland. Directly below him he could see the rough outline of the fortress. It was irregularly shaped, but from this altitude Eragon could not make out any more details.

They continued their fall like this until they were less than a thousand feet above the fortress. By now Eragon's enhanced eyesight could make out details in the structure, and he was not impressed by the construction. It was rather shabbily built, with irregular walls and clumsily built structures. Spikes and sheets of metal festooned it, apparently welded irregularly at the builder's whim. From this altitude Eragon's eyesight could also begin to make out green figures placed as irregularly as their architecture. It was too far to make out details, but Eragon could see they walked hunched over. He could also see some wielding guns that were big almost to the point of absurdity.

Eragon triggered the grav-chute. It took time, but his fall was eventually arrested. Just in time too, for the ground was quickly approaching. Eragon looked around to see that he was coming down in a courtyard of sorts, almost exactly where Beta squad was to regroup. Thankfully there was hardly any lighting, which either meant that the orks were careless, or that they had no need for it. Eragon hoped it was the former.

Eragon's feet hit the ground. He rolled with the impact, a technique Oromis had once taught him. Standing up, he quickly discarded his grav-chute and dropped it into a dark corner of the compound. Standing up, he looked around. Other storm troopers were landing or had already landed, and were making their way stealthily to the rendezvous point. Eragon, looking around cautiously, proceeded to do the same.

He had dropped by the corner of a wall connecting to the outer ramparts. From his position there was just a short walk from his landing site to the rendezvous. At least, it would have been short if he did not have to sneak there, bent down and keeping to the shadows.

He met surprisingly few orks on his route. The only ones he had to worry about were a group of about ten that stood directly in his way. Eragon stopped, hiding in a shadow, to study them.

They were big, green, and ugly. Each one probably would have stood seven feet tall if they weren't hunched over. As it was, they were roughly the height of a man, but with the musculature of an urgal. Their faces sported crude features and oversized jaws. Some had teeth that were borderline tusks. All of them held enormous pistols and a melee weapon that looked like a cleaver.

At the moment they did not look too attentive. Many of them were yawning, and some were outright trying to sleep, only to receive a cuff from an ork who was bigger than the rest. However, they were still in his way. Eragon looked around for another route. There was none, at least none that were nearby and quiet. A distraction wouldn't help, as it would simply bring more orks in to his location. And Russ had warned him against trying to assassinate orks. "It won't work" he had said flatly. "You can snap a greenskin's neck, and all it will do is tell him you're there" Eragon came to the conclusion that he would have to psyke.

Carefully, Eragon extended his mind to the nearest ork. The creature's mind was rough, primitive, and alien. Despite this, Eragon found it remarkably easy to convince it to punch the ork standing beside it.

The second ork was knocked back into a third, whose pinwheeling arms caught a fourth in the mouth. The process continued until the whole group was fighting amongst itself in an all out brawl. Eragon stifled a grin. He could have strolled whistling past the group and they wouldn't have noticed him. As it was, it was easy to sneak past the group.

Eragon was the first to arrive before a massive doorway with a ramshackle metal door bolted on. From here he watched as his squad mates slowly made their way to him. Eventually, after many agonizing minutes and a few near misses, all of them were grouped around the door. Captain Dare did a quick head count, then went into the doorway with the squad behind her.

"Where's Alpha Squad" Tzu Shen whispered into his micro bead.

"Don't know" Russ answered. "They rendezvoused at another point"

"Can it" Dare ordered as the last man made it into the fort.

Eragon's already low opinion of orkish architecture fell further as they went through the irregularly carved tunnels. The only positive thing about them was that they were large, with plenty of shadows to hide in when the occasional ork stumbled by. There were surprisingly few.

Eventually they emerged into a sort of throne room, with rough pillars and balconies decorating the hall. At the other end of the room there was a crude throne adorned with helmets, heads, and other grisly trophies. A monster of an ork sat in it. He was easily twice as tall as a man, with huge rippling muscles that would send a pack of shrrg running in terror. His right hand was encased in some kind of power claw. The other hand held a massive cleaver that Eragon felt sure could split a bear in half with one blow. Four other orks stood in the hall, all of them wielding massive guns that Eragon sincerely hoped they would not fire. They were not as big as the one on the throne, whom Eragon assumed was the warboss, but they were big enough. Worse, they were wide awake and alert.

Standing in front of the ork on the throne was an anomaly in this rough and barbaric room. The figure was slender, with armor that hugged it so tightly Eragon felt it bordered on indecency. She, for she could be nothing else, had her helmet tucked under her arm, leaving her blonde hair bare. And she had pointed ears.

Eragon's eyes widened. There were elves here apparently, but what one was doing among the orks he had no idea. Her armor was unlike anything he had seen, as was the sword that was strapped to her back.

She was currently speaking to the ork in some alien tongue. The ork looked angry, but was not saying anything.

"Alright" Dare whispered. "Spread out and take an angle on the warboss. When I give the signal, fire" The squad proceeded to spread out. Apparently they made too much noise however, for the elf snapped around and stared directly at Dare. She then shouted something something that sounded like "Mon'Keigh!"

"Oi, itz some o dem oomies" one of the gun wielding orks said, grinning.

"Kill em!" the warboss shouted.

The four orks turned to face the storm troopers and brought their guns up. Eragon dove for cover behind a pillar, cursing as he collided with a piece of metal that jutted out of it. He found himself joined by two of his squad mates, Shen and another man called Yamato.

With a roar the guns started firing. The cacophony of the orks' weapons was deafening. It made Eragon want to clasp his ears in pain. He looked up to trace the line of the orks' fire and saw a series of small craters being blasted out of the wall. He quickly realized that their cover would not last long under such an onslaught. Thankfully however, the orks' marksmanship was terrible.

"The warboss is gone!" Dare shouted angrily. Eragon risked a look from behind the pillar to see that the warboss had indeed left the room, along with the elf.

"Good!" Russ yelled back. "We've got enough to worry about"

"Alpha squad's going to beat us to the warboss!" Dare roared. She turned to Eragon and shouted, "Psyk, now!"

Eragon extended his mind, which under the circumstances was a little difficult. Still, he managed to make contact with one of the orks and convince him to adjust his aim a little. The ork swung his gun around and hammered another ork with shots. The barrage tore him apart.

"Go, go!" Dare ordered. She and four others rushed forward, ignoring the quarreling orks, and raced down a passageway.

"What about us?" Eragon asked as the orks resolved their grudges and turned their guns back on the storm troopers.

"Someone's got to stay behind and distract them" Yamato said gloomily.

The orks' guns roared, and the barrage started up again.

"Now what?" Russ yelled angrily.

"You, psyker, vaporize them" Shen said, pointing at Eragon.

Eragon closed his eyes. So far all he had managed was force thrusts. He did not know what would happen if he tried something else… apart from fire, which he had done on Antares Tertias.

"Brisingr!" Eragon shouted, concentrating on the image of heat and flames and pointing his gedwey ignasia at the orks. A stream of brilliant blue fire issued from his hand. It melted its way through a pillar and struck two of the orks, utterly incinerating them.

Eragon gasped as his mind came under daemonic attack again. He staggered back behind cover, then collapsed to the ground, trying to dispel the daemons that threatened to rip his sanity apart. Vaguely, he was aware of more shouting, more shots fired by the last ork, and then an large explosion ripped through his ears.

Grimacing with the effort, Eragon shoved the malevolent entities out of his mind and looked around. The rest of the squad was out from behind their cover, and Leman Russ wore a satisfied smile.

"What happened to the last ork?" Eragon asked woozily.

Shen rolled his eyes. "Russ threw a krak grenade at it" he said.

Russ walked over to Eragon and held out his hand. Grasping it, Eragon hefted himself up and checked his bolter. Satisfied that it was in good condition, he looked around the room. It now bore scorch marks from Eragon's warp fire, as well as a large crater where Russ had thrown the krak charge.

"C'mon" Russ said. "Let's see if the captain's still in one piece"

Russ, Eragon, Shen, Yamato, and the last trooper ran for the door where their captain had disappeared. Looking back, Eragon saw more orks start to spill into the throne room. It seemed their battle with the bodyguards had not gone unnoticed. Russ swore.

"Run!" he shouted. The five of them sprinted down the hallway and through a set of double doors. They then turned around and barred the door shut. "Barricade the door" Russ ordered.

The storm troopers all turned around and started pulling bits of debris, chunks of rock, anything that could block the door. Eragon ran over to a metal piece that randomly jutted from a wall. Grunting, he pulled it out of the rock and brought it over to the door. Russ took it and propped it against the barrier, then turned to help Shen with a discarded cleaver.

Their frantic scramble was interrupted when the rest of Beta Squad spilled into the room. They were facing away from Eragon and the others and firing steadily. There was a roar of something angry, followed by a big, green something that barreled into the room, knocking the storm troopers aside. It was the warboss. Up close he looked even bigger than he had on the throne. Muscles and tendons of ridiculous sizes bulged from underneath his skin, and the smallest of his yellow teeth were the size of Eragon's fingers. He wore a crude set of metal armor that was covered in bones and other trophies. The claw on his right hand was crackling with energy, and the gigantic cleaver was covered in blood. Eragon felt fairly sure that Alpha Squad had met their demise at this monster's hands.

Before the others could move, an explosion sounded off behind the door, which buckled.

"Ambush positions, now!" Dare barked.

The storm troopers scattered, all of them trying to find whatever meager cover was available. Eragon didn't, instead hefting his heavy bolter, aiming for the warboss. Another explosion sounded, the doors burst apart, and orks spilled into the room, all of them brandishing cleavers and raising their voices into one terrible war cry: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Eragon depressed the heavy bolter's trigger, and the weapon roared its own battle cry as it hurled its bolts into the warboss. The inch wide shots would have ripped a human in half. Even a Traitor marine would not have survived such an onslaught. The ork warboss, however, was only angered by the rounds exploding on his armor. He looked around for the nuisance that was doing this and spotted Eragon. Hefting his bloody cleaver, the warboss charged at him. Eragon backpedaled, but the warboss was too fast, bringing his cleaver down and dashing the heavy bolter from Eragon's hands. Eragon watched in surprised fear as the cleaver smashed the bolter to the ground and crushed it. His eyes widened further than they already were as he realized the brutish strength that the monster had put behind the blow. Even with his own strength there was simply no way he could parry such a blow. This ork could rip him in half. There was no margin for error in this fight.

Eragon psyked, and fire issued from his hand, only to splash off of the warboss' armor and make him even angrier. He howled "WAAAAAAAAAAGH!" and drew his claw back for a punch. Eragon dove out of the way as the claw thundered into the wall behind him. The wall exploded into shards as the claw's energy discharged into the concrete-like substance. A shard flew past Eragon's face as he reached for a chainsword. He found it, swung it out, and activated it. He swung the spinning blades at the warboss' leg with all his might. His aim was off, and the sword caught on the ork's leg armor. The teeth screeched as they scarred the armor, but they did not penetrate.

Eragon looked on in disbelief. A mistake, for the warboss' forearm, came back in a blow that clipped him in the shoulder. It was a glancing hit, but the force was sufficient to yank the young Rider away from the ork, throwing him backwards. Eragon hit the ground with a roll and got up, just in time to dodge the warboss' cleaver. The air whistled as the cleaver passed by Eragon's head and embedded itself in the ground.

The ork grunted, freeing the blade easily, then swung its crackling claw in a sideways blow. Eragon jumped, reaching ten feet in the air, then came down and landed on the warboss' arm. Eragon quickly found a chink where the armor pieces did not quite connect and jammed his sword into it. The teeth of the sword churned into the flesh. Unfortunately it only made the enormous ork even more livid. It quickly shook Eragon off and roared.

"Stupid pointy ears! First dey tink dat deyz da boss, den dey tryz ta kill me! I'z Kurguk Skull Muncha, and I'z gonna kill you and all da oomies!" Having said that, he roared again and swung his cleaver. Eragon dropped to the ground as the blade whizzed overhead. It was a mistake. The ork stepped forward and gleefully began stomping, trying to turn Eragon into a pulp.

Eragon jerked and bucked, desperately trying to avoid being stomped like a bug. It wasn't easy. The ork was quick with his feet, and it was only a matter of time before he caught the rider and stomped him to oblivion.

Eragon rolled to the side as the brute's massive foot crashed down by his face. The foot went up, and Eragon quickly whipped his knife out and stuck into the foot. The ork grunted, hesitating just long enough for Eragon to pull himself away and get to his feet.

"Bromsson!" Eragon heard Russ shout. He turned just in time to catch the krak charge that the storm trooper had thrown at him. An idea hit him. Pouring on all of his speed, Eragon sprinted forward. He shot between the surprised ork's legs, slashed a piece of the creature's back away, and planted the krak charge. The ork turned around, and made a grab at Eragon with his claw. Eragon ducked, then heard a resounding explosion as the krak grenade went off.

The shock wave from the explosion smashed into him and pushed him against the ground. The ceiling of the room itself gave away, and crumbled into large pieces that fell on top of the large ork. Eragon launched himself away, saving himself just in time.

More and more or the ceiling crashed down, as Kurguk erupted from the pile of debris. Eragon could not believe it. He had just hit the warboss with a krak grenade and half the ceiling and yet he was still alive. Alive and looking ready to explode with rage. The warboss picked up a piece of debris and hurled it at Eragon. Eragon dodged, and the debris hit the wall behind him and shattered. A piece hit him in the shoulder as he recovered from the dodge, making him stagger forward. The ork grabbed Eragon and gleefully held him up to his face.

"Now I'ze gotcha" he said, grinning an evil smile. Eragon realized that the ork had made an elementary mistake: he had forgotten to pin Eragon's arms. Lunging forward as far as he could, he stuck his still whirring chainsword into the roof of the ork's mouth.

Kurguk dropped Eragon and staggered backwards. But it was too late for any other action, as the sword dragged itself into the ork's head and slashed its brains into a ruined pulp. Kurguk Skull Muncha fell backwards onto the ground, and moved no more.

Eragon pulled himself to his feet, walked over to the dead warboss, and wrenched his sword out of the ork's gaping mouth. He turned to see his squad mates were still firing, their hellguns cracking as they shot. Not a single discharge was wasted, such was the efficiency of the storm troopers. For all their discipline and sharpshooting however, their weapons required five shots to kill an ork, at the least.

However, their attack was no longer coherent. Some had turned on others of their kind, slicing and hacking their way through their rivals. Apparently there was a power vacuum, and many of the orks wanted to fill it. But there was still a sizable amount trying to kill the storm troopers. With a loud warcry Eragon drew his other sword and charged.

He found himself knee deep in orks. Eragon found himself being driven back by the sheer number of adversaries he faced. Deciding that dual wielding was hindering him, he cast one of his swords aside and gripped the other with both hands. Now he could truly show these creatures swordsmanship, he thought. He blocked a blow, then slashed the arm of the offending ork clean off its shoulder. The surprised ork was yanked back by one of its comrades, who charged forward, cleaver held high. Eragon bisected him, blocked another blow, then slashed the organs out of two more orks. He heard the revving of another chainsword, and he saw Dare and Russ attacking from a flank, trying to take some of the pressure off of their defender. Some of the orks were deflected, but the majority of them kept pressing forward towards the Rider.

The battle continued for what felt like hours. The river of orks that tried to fight him seemed endless. More and more pressed forward, only to be cut down by the chainsword wielding dragon rider. Some of them, the bigger ones, took multiple strikes to cut down, but Eragon's physical performance still outmatched them significantly.

Still, they kept coming. And coming. And coming. And Eragon was beginning to tire. His strokes were no longer as fast as they had been at the beginning of the fight. As yet another ork ran at him, shouting "WAAAAAAAAGH!" the whole time, Eragon sidestepped the blow, then lopped its arm off, followed up by a slash through the stomach. Looking up, he saw a group of orks, bigger than the rest, barging toward him. His heart sank as he saw more and more of the bigger orks enter the room. He did not have the endurance to do this. He had to end this fight now.

Eragon jumped away from the combat, then breached the barrier in his mind. Reaching out, he grasped the remnants of the ceiling and pulled. With a crash the rest of the ceiling fell in, smashing the orks in the doorway under the rubble. More and more of the ceiling caved in until the way into the room was plugged with rubble. Eragon lowered his hands.

…

She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. A group of Mon Keigh had just killed half the entire fort full of orks. And one of their number had killed over three quarters of the greenskins. Though after a display like that, and after seeing his physical features, it was impossible to believe that the swordsman was a Mon Keigh. He had to be some sort of hybrid.

Aurelia curled her lip at the thought, then watched as the group of Mon Keigh wearily gathered together. Their leader did a quick head count, then the group turned and wearily trudged out of the room.

There was nothing more to see, the warlock decided. She lowered the glamor shield that had surrounded her and left the room.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 15

"Sound off" Dare ordered. "Beta one, here"

"Beta two, here"

"Beta three, here"

On they went until they reached Eragon. "Beta ten, here" he said dutifully after Russ had spoken. He looked around the room. There wasn't much left after Eragon's psychic attack. What looked like two thirds of the roof had collapsed into rubble. The doorway that the orks had been using was completely blocked, though it did not block the sounds of the orks fighting on the other side. Even now, Eragon could hear the roar of gunfire and the cries of the orks.

"Let's get out of here before they clear out the rubble" Russ said, echoing Eragon's thoughts.

Dare wasn't listening. Her attention was instead on her micro bead, which was apparently relaying an officer's words to her. "This is Beta Squad" she said. "Alpha squad was neutralized by the warboss. The warboss is dead" She paused again as the officer on the other end spoke. "Understood" she said. She looked up to her squad. "The attack has begun on the fort" she said to the assembled storm troopers.

Most of the troopers displayed looks of mild disbelief. Russ groaned and slapped a hand to his helmet. "All they had to do was wait for them to kill each other off" he said.

"What are we to do?" Shen asked.

"Disrupt their defense any way possible" Dare said. Eragon's heart plummeted. He had hoped for an end to what had been a difficult mission. Apparently that was not to be.

"Alright, the first thing we need to do is get back to the surface and survey the defenses. Move out" Dare ordered. She turned and started scaling the pile of rubble that Eragon had created into the room above. Her subordinates quickly followed, Eragon sheathing his sword as he went.

They made it without mishap up the rough ramp and through the doorway of the next room. From there they continued on, traveling in the opposite direction that they had taken during their infiltration. The sounds of the brawling orks continued to make their way through the hallways and into the rooms that they passed through, but thankfully they saw none of the orks.

Eragon's thoughts drifted to the elf he had seen talking to the warboss. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, if humans could build ships that traveled the stars, elves most certainly could. But that did not explain why she had been here, in this place. She was the most out place thing here he could imagine, yet here she was, parleying with orks. It was almost unthinkable that an elf would stoop to such levels. The explanations Eragon found himself at were either he had been misled about the nature of the orks, or these elves were a good deal different from the ones in Alagaesia.

They passed through more and more of the labyrinthine hallways, always keeping to the shadows. At one point they entered a large room where a group of orks was busy arguing amongst themselves. To the side of the group another group of smaller creatures stood, warily watching the orks. Suddenly, one of the orks rushed out, grabbed a smaller creature, and punted in across the room. This apparently started a punting contest, as the rest of the orks quickly reached out, grabbed one of the squealing smaller creatures, and punted them.

Eragon almost asked what the small creatures were, but figured it would not do to cause more noise than necessary.

They continued on, occasionally seeing more of the new creatures. Then the halls abruptly widened into a large, dimly lit chamber filled with angular objects that, on closer inspection appeared to be some kind of vehicles.

When Eragon had first seen the Guard's tanks, once he had gotten over his initial shock, he found them to look a little ugly. These contraptions however, were as crude and ugly as an urgal with a skin condition. Compared to them, the Leman Russ tank was rather aesthetic.

The storm troopers stopped to survey their finding. Dare took a second, then said quietly "Sabotage them. Go for the battle wagons first"

The storm troopers quickly spread out to the vehicles and started applying their melta and krak charges to the undersides of the contraptions.

Eragon approached one of them. It was an ugly, lopsided thing that he was sure was leaning to the left. It possessed four wheels and a set of treads. Hearing an explosion as one of the krak charges went off, Eragon slid under the battle wagon. He found himself confronted by a bewildering array of parts. With no idea if he was placing it in the right location, Eragon took a frak charge from his belt, pulled the pin, and hurriedly smashed it into a nook formed by the bewildering pieces of the machine.

Eragon slid out from the machine as the charge blew. Eragon felt a fragment hit his carapace armor, but there was no lasting damage. He turned to the next machine and repeated the process.

It was when he was on his third machine that things went wrong. Eragon was about to slide under when the room suddenly lit up.

"Oi, dem oomies iz wreking our rides!" an ork shouted. Eragon heard Russ swear violently, and then the booming retorts of orkish guns going off. The storm troopers quickly responded, sending plasma charged las shots at the group of orks that was spilling into the room. Eragon dove behind a ruined battle wagon, wishing he still had his heavy bolter. He growled, at idiot orks who had ruined this opportunity. He then heard the sound of an engine roaring. He turned to see one of the smaller vehicles, one with a wheel in front and treads behind it, barreling towards him. Eragon jumped into the air just in time. His luck had run out however, as the vehicle's gunner leaned out and grabbed Eragon's shin.

Eragon yelped as the bottom of his body was yanked out from under him. His head slammed down against the back of the vehicle. The impact was mercifully cushioned by his helmet, but had brought him perilously close to the ground that was rushing past beneath him. There was also the matter of the ork who held him, who was now raising a cleaver to bring down on the Rider.

Eragon pulled his leg back, then kicked out in a blow that would have caved a man's ribs in. All it did to the ork was wind it. However, the blow served its purpose in deflecting the cleaver from Eragon. Instead of bisecting him, the cleaver landed next to Eragon's leg. Unfortunately, the ork still maintained a firm grip on Eragon's leg.

Eragon flexed his abdominal muscles, bringing his torso up onto the back of the charging vehicle. He grabbed his chainsword, activated it, and stabbed the ork straight through the gut. The ork fell to the side, releasing Eragon's leg as he went. The Rider barely managed to keep himself from falling off of the war trak by grabbing the edge of the vehicle and hoisting himself up. He looked forward and stabbed the vehicle's driver in the head. The ork died with a gurgle.

There was a shrieking sound of metal on metal, and the vehicle Eragon was on ground to a sudden halt, skidding to a stop right outside the building…and into utter pandemonium.

Orks were swarming everywhere, yelling, hooting, and waving their guns around as they ran for the entrance. Eragon could also hear the massed las gun fire of the invading Imperial Guardsmen as they charged through the crumbling walls. Apparently some amount of ordinance was used after all.

Eragon briefly considered raking the line of orks with fire from the vehicle's mounted guns, reached a decision, and fired. Or tried to. But no amount of trigger pumping would persuade the infernal things to fire. Eragon gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Stupid piece of useless junk" he growled, then noticed some of the orks turning to him. "Oh…" Eragon said, then interrupted himself by swinging down behind the wrecked vehicle for cover as the orks started to pour gunfire into the chassis.

Eragon growled as he crouched behind his cover, again wishing he had his heavy bolter. He indulged in a short laugh at the thought, then returned to the matter at hand. He was trapped, that much was clear. The orks were enthusiastically pouring fire into Eragon's shelter, and more and more of them were turning their guns to Eragon's position. He was hemmed in by the errant shots, of which there were many. And there could only be so much punishment the wrecked war trak could take. This sentiment only increased as a rocket shot past the cover and exploded on the garage in front of Eragon, deafening his already abused ears.

Eragon looked up to the sky, readying himself for a desperate, suicidal sprint to the garage. He then caught himself. The Rider of Saphira Brightscales would not be killed running away, but boldly facing his opponents. He gritted his teeth, readying himself for an all-out psychic attack.

His preparation was interrupted by an ear shattering explosion. Once his ears had stopped ringing quite so loudly, Eragon risked a look from behind his cover.

Where there had been a gaggle of orks firing at him, there was now just a smoking crater. Behind it stood a tank with a short, wide barrel that was still smoking from its shot. Its side mounted heavy bolters thundered as they mopped up the last remaining orks.

Eragon cautiously looked around and, seeing no immediate threat, ran forward to the Leman Russ Demolisher that had saved his life. A hatch on top of the turret opened up, and a guardsman poked his head out.

"This area clear? Where's the rest of your squad?" he asked.

"They're back inside the garage" Eragon replied. "There's a bunch of orks in there"

The guardsman looked surprised. "Wow, a big toy soldier who chickened out" he said mockingly. "I never thought I'd see the day"

"I did not run!" Eragon replied angrily.

"Ya, whatever. Your welcome for saving your life by the way"

"Thank you" Eragon growled out.

Eragon turned away from the mocking tank commander as his micro bead began speaking to him. "Beta Squad, this is Lord Commissar Gagarin. The orks are setting up a line of zzap kannons. If they succeed, the armor in our main thrust will be destroyed. What is your status?"

Eragon heard Captain Dare answer "We're still in combat. We need more time to finish this fight"

"Dammit, this is urgent!" Gagarin roared. "The orks cannot be allowed to get their artillery in place!"

"This is Corporal Bromsson" Eragon said. "I'm on my way"

"See that you are" Gagarin said, and he terminated the link.

Eragon turned to the main keep of the fort. It was another spikey, ramshackle part of the greenskins' fortifications. At the top, Eragon could see orks moving what appeared to be artillery into position. Guessing that these were the zzap kannons, he turned back to the demolisher battle tank. "I need to get to the keep" he said.

"I bet you do" the tank commander said, yawning. "So?"

"Can you get me there?"

"Fraid not"

Eragon swore. "By the Emperor, I'm a storm trooper! I need to destroy the artillery there!"

"Ya, well, our orders are to spearhead the advance into the courtyard, so forget it"

Eragon turned away and angrily contemplated the keep. It seemed he was too late to stop the orks, as the kannons were already up and ready to shoot. Eragon saw what looked like a lightning bolt lance out from one of the artillery pieces. It hit a Leman Russ and destroyed it.

More of the artillery pieces were set up and fired. Eragon nearly collapsed in defeat. There were simply too many orks between himself and the kannons.

With another loud cracking sound, another kannon fired, lancing its shot straight through the hatch of the Baneblade that had been leading the charge. The super heavy tank abruptly stopped its charge. The other tanks and infantry behind it also stopped, milling around in confusion. Eragon spotted the familiar figure of Korosov running forward to the Baneblade.

Eragon sprinted forward, hoping that the commissar would have some idea for the situation. His legs were a blur as he ran over to the man, who now appeared to be yelling at the crew of the Baneblade. More and more lightning bolts shot out from the keep. Some merely struck the ground or fizzled out in midair. Others struck guardsmen, reducing them to ashes. Eragon felt them starting to panic.

"Korosov!" Eragon yelled, ripping his helmet off as he neared the commissar. Korosov turned, his expression one of surprise and then relief.

"Bromsson! Where's the rest of your squad?" he shook his head. "Nevermind. Can you psyk those kannons?"

"Yes, but I need to get closer" Eragon responded.

Korosov briefly considered something, then came to a decision. He turned back to the Baneblade and yelled down the hatch "Alright you bloody cowards, meet your new commander, Lieutenant Bromsson" Eragon looked at him in surprise, but Korosov did not notice. A man popped his head out of the smoking hatchway and looked at Eragon.

"I'm not taking orders from a mutant" he declared. "I'm getting out of here!"

He made to abandon the tank, but Korosov grabbed him by his uniform and snarled "Listen to me you gutless wretch. And the rest of you scum too" He pointed at Eragon. "See that burn on his forehead? That symbol? That is the rosarius, the countenance of the God Emperor himself, branded by His divine hand on His holy man. By His mercy Eragon Bromsson has appeared to smite His enemies in the name of the Emperor, the Imperium, and all her people. And you, you worthless son of bitch, would question him?"

The crewman's face dropped. "No sir" he said meekly. A chorus of similar affirmations were heard from the other crewmembers inside the tank.

"Then listen up!" Korosov roared. As if to punctuate his statement, a lightning bolt streaked behind him. The commissar didn't even flinch. "The Marked Man needs to get to those kannons. You are going to get him there and blow up, run over, or God Emperor knows what else any fungus faced xeno that gets in your way"

"But the kannons…" the crewman started.

"He'll take care of them. The Emperor protects" Korosov proclaimed. He motioned to Eragon, who climbed up the side of the Baneblade. The crewman ducked back into the tank. Eragon looked at Korosov. "The Emperor protects" he repeated.

"The Emperor protects" Eragon replied. With that, he jumped down into the turret of the Baneblade.

The interior of the turret was dimly lit by illuminator strips. Screens and auto senses also contributed to the lighting. A large loader mechanism bisected the turret, with what Eragon assumed to be the main cannon at its end. A vox system, apparently linked to the other parts of the Baneblade, was implanted beside the screens of the auto senses.

"Where to?" a voice asked over the vox.

Eragon grabbed the micro bead and said "What the commissar said. Forward"

"Aye sir" the voice replied.

The Baneblade's engines, which had been rumbling quietly the whole time, now roared as the super heavy tank lurched forward. Eragon heard a barrage of weapons going off, and was amazed to see that all of them belonged to the Baneblade. Opening his mind, he felt the orks surprise as this sudden act of aggression, as well as the fear and hope of the Baneblade's crew. He quickly moved on to the orks positioned on top of the keep.

He couldn't mind control them all at once. Such an act would probably end badly for him. No, the best thing to do was to isolate which orks were about to fire and redirect them. It would be a strenuous process, but a necessary one.

One of them was about to fire. Quickly, Eragon seized control and made the gunner's arm spasm. The shot went wide, incinerating a cluster of orks. Eragon quickly left and jumped to another mind. This time he took more control, and redirected the shot into another position. Without the warboss to break up the fight that ensued, the whole battery quickly fell apart as the orks turned savagely on each other. Eragon grinned. That should keep them busy.

"Throne, we're being overrun!" a crewman yelled panicking.

"Where's our support?" Eragon asked, withdrawing to his mind.

"What support?!" the man replied.

Eragon's mind extended out again. It was true. The Baneblade was surrounded by orks. Indeed, some were clambering on top of the tank. Reaching out further, he found the rest of the Imperials still stalled behind them. Eragon cursed.

"Keep moving" he ordered. "I'll take care of the orks"

He unsheathed his chainsword. It revved hungrily in his hands as he bent his legs. He jumped up through the ruined hatch. He landed with his legs slightly splayed over the hatch, his sword gripped tightly, ready to inflict damage on the nearest orks.

He was not a moment too soon. Orks were all over the Baneblade, some apparently ready to jump down the hatch into the turret. They reared back in surprise as Eragon sprang out. A few deft sword strokes later the nearest orks collapsed and fell back off the turret. The others turned eagerly from where they had been bashing the armor plating and swarmed upward, each grinning in anticipation of the fight to come. Eragon steadied himself. This was going to be a long fight.

The first ork clambered up the side of the turret and was promptly stabbed through the head. A second ork grabbed the twitching body and threw it aside, while Eragon felt a blow impact with his carapace armor. He spun around, and slashed a third ork in the stomach. Eragon extended his mind out, hoping to catch any more incoming attacks before he was hit.

He spun again, bringing his screaming weapon down in a vertical blow that halved an ork, then limbed another ork and kicked him back into the crowd of orks that were baying for his blood. Another ork was launched forward by his fellows. Eragon jumped, reaching ten feet, and watched the ork sail beneath him and into another ork. Both fell off the back of the tank as Eragon landed. As soon as his feet were on firm ground he was back in the fray, slicing through an orks face and punching another in the gut. The punch sent the xeno flying backwards. Eragon did not watch the ork's flight, instead parrying a blow and kicking backwards at the same time as ork tried to halve him from behind. Two more strikes and the attacking ork was in pieces.

The turret lurched beneath Eragon as the Banebalde turned away from its crash course with the keep. Orks and Rider alike were pushed to the side as the tank made its turn.

Caught by surprise, Eragon nearly fell as he felt the ground beneath him shift. He grabbed the pintle mounted heavy stubber to regain his balance, shifting out of the way of a wild swing by an ork. An idea occurred to him. Exerting his full strength, he snapped the stubber off its mound. Holding it in his left hand, he swung it around with the trigger mashed down. Orks jerked and bucked as the projectiles thrown by the gun impacted on them.

A cleaver came down. Eragon parried with his sword, then skewered him on the churning teeth of the weapon. Almost at the same time, an ork launched itself at him from the other side. Frantically multi tasking, Eragon pulled the stubber around and shot the ork five times in the chest. The ork fell back, dead, as another pair of orks pulled themselves up, fairly bursting with anticipation. Eragon pointed both his weapons at them and attacked. The chainsword sheared through the ork's flimsy armor and into its body as the heavy stubber roared, throwing its shots into the ork's companion. Both fell down.

By now the tank's turret was free of orks. Dropping his sword, Eragon turned the fury of his heavy stubber on the orks who were still on the front of the tank. If it had been a group of humans it would have been over in seconds. But orks were apparently made of sterner material. Eragon was forced to concentrate his fire on one ork at a time. He fired, managing to finish off three, four, five orks before they clambered onto the turret, forcing Eragon to pick his chainsword up and fight close quarters again.

His extended mind confirmed what he had begun to suspect. Despite the carnage and battle around them, the dimwitted creatures were having the time of their lives. They lived for this moment, for when they could run into battle with their guns and cleavers held high. They weren't like the urgals, who had the redeeming virtues of honor, intellect, and foresight. They simply lived for war.

_Where's the rest of the Guard?_ Eragon thought frantically as an ork bashed the heavy stubber out of his hands. His muscles ached as he slashed out with his sword, and he could not keep his mind extended for much longer: the daemons were already whispering in his mind. Eragon could not risk an attack now.

The Baneblade shuddered under a blow. Eragon looked to see a group of orks who were bigger than the rest, all armed with crackling power fists. Their leader pulled his fist back again, ready to tear a hole in the side of the tank.

Eragon made his mind up in a second. Roaring a warcry, he dove off the turret, his trajectory aimed perfectly for the leader's head. The chainsword seemed to roar its approval at this tactic as it bit into the head of the leader. Eragon's momentum carried him through its head, the teeth of his sword churning through its brains.

As the ork fell to its knees, Eragon ripped his sword out, ready for more combat. He was not a moment too soon, as an ork punched at him with his power fist. Eragon ducked the blow and then proceeded to lop the cretin's arm off. His backswing beheaded it.

Eragon found himself surrounded by the three remaining orks, all of whom were grinning evilly. They pulled their fists back. It was a mistake. Eragon lunged forward and slashed through the face of the ork. It collapsed back as Eragon swung his sword around and through the second remaining ork. The final ork was upon him, however, and would have killed him had not a barrage of las shots incinerated him.

"Finally" Eragon muttered.

…

Lieutenant Leman Russ trudged wearily out of the now wrecked vehicle depot, feeling great satisfaction about the fight that had just ended. It appeared the fight was mostly over for the invasion as well. He could still hear the occasional cracking noise of lasgun fire as the Eris regiments mopped up the last remaining pockets of resistance. As he looked around, he saw the regiments' Baneblade pass by with, wonder of wonders, Bromsson sitting on the turret. He spotted Russ and waved jauntily.

"It followed me home" he called out. "Can I keep it?"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 16

"Here it is" the tech priest said as he brought out a heavy bolter. Eragon reached out for the weapon, but the priest did not give it to him.

"Be more careful. The omnissiah does not appreciate such irresponsibility with its servants"

Eragon nodded, suppressing his own confusion at the subject. He was not entirely sure what to think about the subject of the machine god. He had of course been taught the basic servicing rituals of his equipment and the rituals and prayers surrounding them, but Eragon doubted that any of his equipment was home to a "machine spirit". It seemed as ridiculous as the dwarves' belief that rocks were alive and grew in salt water. But there was always the possibility that he simply could not sense it, like he had not sensed the Ra'zac.

The tech priest held the heavy weapon out, and Eragon accepted it. He looked over it, tried to find a comfortable way to hold it, and failed. _Same as my last one_ he thought. He bade the tech priest farewell and left the field armory that had been hastily erected last night.

Operating without a ranged weapon had been a pain to say the least. Yes, Eragon could psyke, but he hated risking his mind every time he did it.

Eragon put his helmet on, his eyes flicking to the chronometer in the corner of its display. It was almost time for him to move out. He looked around, noting the scars and pits from the battle of two nights ago. The assault had taken a heavy toll on the former ork fortress. Despite the magos' wishes the walls had sustained heavy damage, with multiple gaps formed in the already shoddy construction. Other buildings had also suffered, including the main keep.

Eragon walked past a medical tent. He stopped to see a procession of wounded being helped out and into a line of waiting Chimeras. Seeing their pain Eragon wished that he was able to heal them, but between the lack of structure of from the Ancient Language and his own ignorance there was no way he could safely try it.

The fort was clear of bodies. The previous day had been spent clearing the area of the dead. The guardsmen were buried in a mass grave. The orks had simply been piled up and burned. Eragon wrinkled his nose. It would be a while before he could get the stench of charred ork out of his nostrils.

Eragon continued his journey, passing Guardsmen on his way to the motor pool. As usual, he was treated to rounds of stares, double takes, and leering from his fellow soldiers. Eragon searched his thoughts and had to admit sheepishly that he missed the adulation he had received in Alagaesia. At least it had been better than some of the attention he got here.

Yes, he did yearn for a more positive reaction from his fellow guardsmen. But not as much as he yearned for Saphira.

Eragon ruthlessly crushed that thought. He could not afford to dwell on his dragon, no matter how much he wished to. True madness waited if he lingered too long on the thought.

By now Eragon had reached the motor pool, which really was nothing more than a marked off area where the regiments kept their vehicles. Leman Russ tanks were parked in lines, the Baneblade at the front. Behind them were rows of Chimera APCs, all waiting for their crews and passengers. Eragon stopped, thinking back to the briefing they had all been given last night.

Apparently there had been no STC found in the wreck of the fort, so they were to move to another base of operations and join the search there. Because of the number of guardsmen it was estimated three trips would be needed to fully transport all the regiments.

Eragon resumed the final leg of his journey to his vehicle. He stopped, then vaulted onto the top of the Baneblade. He then sat down and waited for the rest of his crew to arrive.

Eragon took some time to muse on what he had learned in the briefing. Apparently their new base was at the edge of a jungle, something that Eragon had never encountered before. What it was like he did not know, but he theorized it could be a place of densely grown plants. That was what it looked like from orbit in any case. Perhaps the Ultramarines would be there already.

Eragon looked up to see the rest of the crew walking towards him. He got to his feet, mentally preparing the briefing he was to give them.

After Korosov's speech during the battle and their subsequent survival despite overwhelming odds the crew appeared to be in awe of the Rider. It was a welcome change from the hostility he sometimes received, but Eragon fervently hoped they would not go too far with it.

The Baneblade's crew gathered around the super heavy tank. "What's going to happen lieutenant?" the main gunner asked respectfully.

Eragon answered "We are going to be part of a convoy that will ferry troops to the new base. Here's the route" he said, handing the map to the driver. He looked to the rest and said "Mount up, we'll be leaving in ten minutes. Oh, and one more thing. Once we get to the camp I've been ordered to leave you to a more qualified commander"

"How do they get more qualified than you?" the driver asked.

"They got the training. I'm just an infantryman" Eragon replied. With that he turned around, jumped onto the turret, and clambered inside.

Once in position Eragon waited for the rest of his crew to take their positions. After about a minute he started his roll call. "Driver" he called into the vox.

"Here" the driver responded.

"Left lascannon"

"Um, shouldn't that be port?"

"Sorry, portside lascannon"

"Here"

On they went until Eragon finished the roll call. From there they waited until a guardsman walked out and started motioning the tanks forward. The first Leman Russ followed, followed by another, and then a third. Then it was the Baneblade's turn.

"Forward" Eragon ordered.

"What speed?"

"Match the Leman Russ in front of us"

"Aye sir"

The Baneblade's engine went from an idle to what Eragon estimated to be half speed. The super heavy tank lurched forward, following the directions of the guardsman who was directing traffic. Soon they passed through a large hole in the wall of the fort and started their journey away from the ruined, formerly ork held fortress. Eragon looked behind them to see a column of Guard vehicles following the Baneblade. He looked forward again, and settled in for a long drive.

As the journey progressed Eragon learned that he was the only one of the crew who had a decent view of their surroundings. At first he had relaxed, wondering how long the ride was going to take. However, the crew appeared to be rather anxious about an ambush, prompting Eragon to periodically scan the surrounding area, both visually and psychically.

Eragon was just starting a scan right now. They were on the edge of what Eragon guessed to be the jungle. Huge trees towered above the convoy, some as tall as the ones from Du Weldenvarden. Large amounts of dense foliage covered the ground. Eragon looked into the jungle. Right away he noticed several anomalies: a glint of metal, a line of smoke, a black gun. His psychic scan confirmed it. There were orks lying in the jungle, waiting for them. Their attack was signaled by a rocket that whizzed past the Baneblade and exploded against a hill.

Eragon immediately grabbed the vox receiver and shouted "There are orks in the jungle, repeat, orks in the jungle!"

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The convoy, at least those parts that Eragon could see, stopped and turned their weapons on the jungle, firing wildly into it. This prompted the waiting orks to charge, roaring out their war cry of "WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Turn us to face the orks" Eragon ordered, mindful of what Korosov had told him about armored warfare. _Always put your front end to the enemy_ he had said. "Nine o' clock position"

The Baneblade's treads ground into the earth as it swiveled to face the charging xenos. Its armored prow was soon presented to the orks, along with the whole of its weaponry. Eragon began calling out targets.

"Main gunner, hit the ork dreadnought. Portside lascannon, hit its port side accomplice"

"That's called a killa kan sir" one of the men responded.

"Right" Eragon said. "Starboard lascannon, vaporize that killa kan. Heavy bolters, pick your targets. If you see any rocket launchers, hit them first"

The Baneblade's crew responded, sending a barrage of fire into the charging greenskins. The ork dreadnought, which Eragon later learned was called a deaf dread, was torn in half by the main cannon. The port side killa kan had a hole melted through it, while the starboard lascannon missed its shot. The killa kan continued its lurching charge, only to be blown to pieces by the Baneblade's demolisher cannon.

Over the roar of the heavy bolters and the autocannon going off, Eragon made out Korosov yelling through his micro bead "Bromsson, the convoy is too strung out to face an attack like this. You have to find the warboss and kill him before they overrun us!"

"Yes sir" Eragon replied, groaning inside. True, he had killed a warboss before, but he had gotten lucky. Then again, last time he had not had a Baneblade under his command. Eragon searched the seething mass of orks, looking for one that was bigger than the rest. He found it. The brute was not as big as the last one had been, but he was still plenty big and muscled. He seemed to be armed with some kind of repeating weapon as well as the ork version of a power fist.

"Main cannon, lascannons, fire on the ork at the one o' clock position, the big one" Eragon ordered. The guns swiveled on their bases, then fired. An unlucky ork trukk took the mega battle cannon's shot, exploding spectacularly and sending orks flying from inside it. Next the lascannons fired, sending incandescent beams of light like lightning bolts at the warboss. One missed, the other melted its gun into slag.

Amazingly, the ork seemed only surprised to see its gun destroyed in so spectacular a fashion. Its yellow eyes roved the battlefield, fixing on the Baneblade. It roared in anger and then charged. Those orks who were in the way were either tossed aside or outright trampled.

Eragon yelled "Autocannon, hit that warboss!" The autocannon barked in response, sending its shells screaming out of its barrel and into the armored ork. The warboss jerked and bucked as the shots impacted on it, but it kept charging.

"Demolisher cannon!" Eragon roared.

"Still reloading" the gunner said. Eragon swore, then opened the hatch to the turret.

"I'm going out there" he said. "Pick your targets, but don't kill me" Without waiting for a response he jumped up through the hatch, landing with his legs slightly splayed over it. Without a pause he activated his chainsword and ran down the front of the Baneblade, vaulting off the tank and straight into the warboss, who by now was dangerously close to the tank.

The jump attack failed. Eragon crashed into the front of the ork, slowing him down, but not scoring any significant hit. The chainsword skated of the front of the ork's armor, and Eragon was nearly trampled by the brute. He dodged the ork's pounding feet, then recovered from his fall and lunged again, this time nicking the ork in between two plates of armor. The warboss ignored him and continued his charge. Eragon gritted his teeth. The ork wasn't even noticing him. He had to distract it from the tank before the brute ripped it to pieces.

"Thrysta!" Eragon shouted, breaching the barrier in his mind. The force that he summoned hit the warboss with the force of a charging dragon, knocking it back towards Eragon. The brute swung around, its face a mask of fury at this psyker who dared attack it. It bellowed "WAAAAAAAAGH!" and lifted its power fist, ready to pulverize Eragon. The Rider dodged the blow clumsily, still trying to contain the whisperings of the daemons in his mind. A short litany and a couple of exertions later and the whisperings had vanished. Eragon looked up to see the warboss' other fist, the one covered in cooling slag of its gun, thundering towards him. This too he dodged, swinging his sword to bisect the arm behind the blow. The sword found a chink in the brute's armor, tearing a gash in the green skin of the warboss.

Eragon heard a whistling sound behind him. Tearing his chainsword free he jumped up. He was just in time. No sooner had he cleared the ork's arm than the power fist on its other arm came crashing into it, trying to clap Eragon between them. Eragon landed on the fists and lunged forward, trying to emulate the last time he had killed a warboss. This time however, he failed, his sword skating off the armored jaws of the warboss. Eragon crashed into the warboss's face and fell to the ground. He looked up to see the creature staggering back. Apparently it had punched itself in an effort to crush the falling Eragon, for its chest armor was now weakened. Eragon looked at it, then started to charge, sword ready for a killing blow…

Only to stop in surprise as a blast of light hit the ork from behind, vaporizing its chest cavity. The ork stared dumbly at the hole in its chest, then fell backwards, dead. Surprised Eragon stopped his charge, his sword falling to his side. He looked around and saw orks falling dead everywhere, struck down in mid combat. Confused, Eragon extended his mind. At first all he sensed were orks dying, but as his mind went further he found another set of entirely different minds. These were focused on their task at hand, which appeared to be gunning down the helpless orks with weapons Eragon had never seen before. These minds sensed Eragon and quickly blocked him out.

Confused, Eragon returned to his own mind and looked hard at the jungle. At first he could see nothing, but here and there he could see signs of another set of beings. As if reacting to Eragon's sight they quickly withdrew, disappearing from sight.

"Wait!" Eragon cried out in the Ancient Language, but they did not return. Looking around, Eragon saw the remanents of the orks being mopped up by the convoy. He turned to the Baneblade and ran back to it, fairly flying over the ground as he ran. He vaulted up the front of the tank and dropped down the hatch into the turret.

"You killed him" one of the crew members exclaimed.

Eragon shook his head. "No I didn't. They did" he said. He looked around and started calling out targets again. "Main gunner, hit that group of orks at the eleven o' clock position…"

…

Aurelia breathed a sigh of relief. They had succeeded in saving the half breed. Now all they had to do was wait.

She heard one of her comrades approaching from behind, and she turned to see Fallien, the exarch of the rangers who accompanied her. "Exarch" she said. "Your rangers have done well in their task. But you are troubled?"

The exarch nodded. "Warlock, I know you are close to the farseer, and I do not wish to be impudent. However, I must voice my concerns.

"As satisfying as it is to wipe these orks out, why must we do so to save the mon'kiegh? Surely it would have been just as effective to let the two kill each other"

"We do so because there is one amongst them whom the farseer alone must kill. We could not risk an ork being the one to do it. For our mission to be successful, we must extinguish his soul along with his life, and the farseer has ordered that she be the one to do it"

Fallien nodded. "By your word" he said. With that, he turned around and walked away.

…

Major Jaq Bourne was in a fight for his life. The fact that he was a Catachan meant that this was not unusual. Currently, he was facing one of the natives of the planet, the very same one who had taken his eye out a week ago.

The native was clad in nothing but a loin cloth and he held a spear in his right hand, undoubtedly tipped with poison. He was covered in a variety of fierce looking war paint that was daubed across his body in strange swirls and markings that Bourne did not care to know about. His savage eyes stared at the Catachan without a shred of mercy. Being a Catachan, Bourne was used to this as well.

The native rode what the citizens of Terra would have called a very large cat. The mount was covered in gashes and burns, courtesy of Bourne, along with more of the weird war paint that the natives seemed so fond of.

Currently, the two were in a lull in the fight, staring at one another with a hostility that was almost palpable. Concealed in the bushes was the rest of Bourne's squad, all of whom he had ordered to stay out of this personal fight. He knew they would ignore the orders of course. If he looked like he was losing they would immediately kill the native and his overgrown pussycat. Secretly, a part of him was grateful for this.

The native's mount roared, angry at the man that had wounded it so. Bourne just smiled at it, readying the thick knife in his hands to slash its guts out. The native atop the beast shrieked something out in a harsh voice that grated against the Catachan's ears. Bourne's reply was to spit at its feet.

Predictably, this infuriated the native, and he would have attacked then and there had a tree not crashed down between them, startling both the combatants.

This section of forest was rather young, having sprung up along the road cut by the guard a month ago. Given the fast action of the jungle on this planet, this was not unusual. Nevertheless, the trees were young, which meant they were no match for the Baneblade super heavy tank that came crashing through the jungle, right toward the dueling humans.

Bourne dodged to the side just in time. His opponent was not as fast, and so was consequently run over by the tank, which carried on without a pause.

Bourne looked on in disbelief as the Baneblade continued onward, grinding his nemesis into the ground with its treads. Not far behind the tank came a Leman Russ, following the path of smashed trees created by the Baneblade and running over the remains of the native.

For a moment, Bourne stood there, still surprised. Then he whirled around after the Baneblade and shouted "You stole my kill you…!"

…

Eragon walked through the camp, trying to find the mess tents. They had arrived at the new base, which really wasn't much more than a very large collection of tents surrounded by watchtowers and sandbagged positions. As ordered he had surrendered the Baneblade once they had arrived, handing it over to a rather pompous fellow whose name Eragon had not bothered to learn. Oromis would have been disappointed by that, he knew.

The terrain in this location was radically different from the barren wastelands that he had just left. The ground was still relatively flat, true, but it was covered by plants no matter which way one looked. Trees poked out of the ground everywhere, some of them truly gigantic. Eragon had seen a few on the scale of the Menoa Tree from Ellesmera.

Eragon stopped as a Sentinel walked in front of him, smoke belching from the furnace on its back. The pilot of the machine was a large, muscular man with a red handkerchief tied around his forehead. He wore no armor, a stark contrast to the men of the Eris regiments who wore their flak armor proudly. Eragon assumed that this was a Catachan. What a Catachan was he did not know. He resolved to ask Russ about it.

After the walker passed, Eragon continued his his search, which soon bore fruit in the form of a short line of men waiting outside of a tent.

_I'm late_ Eragon thought disappointedly. He quickly got in line behind a guardsman from the Eris regiments and soon held a tray of food. Searching around, he spotted the familiar carapace armor of the shock troopers and soon found his squad.

"Hey, Bromsson!" Russ said jovially. "How was the Baneblade?"

"Safe, but it had a rather limited view" Eragon responded, sitting down next to Russ. "Do you know about the Catachans?"

Leman Russ nodded. "Sure. They're from Catachan, the most hellish jungle world ever found by man. They're the best jungle fighters in the Imperium"

"Looks like you're about to meet one" Yamato said, pointing. Eragon followed the finger and saw a group of muscular men, all garbed in jungle camouflage with red handkerchiefs tied around their foreheads, walking towards him. The one in front looked angry, and had his eyes dead set on Eragon. Eragon groaned, and stood up in anticipation of the confrontation.

The man stopped only a foot away from Eragon and said "The pussies from the Baneblade say you are their commander"

"I was" Eragon replied warily. "Not anymore"

"Doesn't matter. You were in charge the first time the convoy came through, right?"

"Yes"

"Good" the Catachan said. Faster than any human Eragon had seen, he punched him in the face. Eragon, who had shed his carapace armor and helmet, was thrown by the blow into Russ. Groaning, he looked up to see the Catachan walking away. Anger filled him, and before anyone could stop him, he jumped up and punched the retreating guardsman in the back of the head. The blow wasn't at Eragon's full strength, else it probably would have killed the Catachan. As it was, he rocked forward under the impact of Eragon's blow.

The response was immediate, as one of the Catachan's cohorts tackled Eragon and hit him just beneath the ribcage. Eragon's world exploded into pain as the blow drove the breath out of him. He staggered back and fell to the ground, still trying to heave in a breath. The man who had tackled him was on him, fist drawn back to strike him again.

Leman Russ intervened, swinging his chair over his head and smashing Eragon's attacker in the back. The blow knocked the attacker down on top of Eragon. Russ pulled the chair back for another blow, but was punched by a third Catachan, who was subsequently hit in the face by Yamato. Yamato in turn was tackled by two other Catachans, which prompted Shen and another storm trooper, Stark, to join the fray.

Within seconds a full on bar fight erupted between five storm troopers and eight Catachans. Russ was trading blows with a Catachan, Eragon, still wheezing from the blow he was given, was being held down by three of them while a fourth punched him, Yamato was repeatedly slamming a Catachan's head into a tray of food, and Shen and Stark were fighting back to back against their opponents.

The other guardsmen, seeing the fight, quickly left their seats and formed a circle around the combatants. Many of them were chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" as the men punched and kicked each other. Some were undoubtedly betting on the outcomes of the separate fights.

The loud retort of a bolt pistol interrupted the fray. The fight stopped immediately, and the combatants turned to see Korosov forcing his way through the circle of guardsmen, bolt pistol still smoking. The Catachans growled and banded together into a group. The storm troopers did the same, though in silence. Eragon, bleeding and disoriented, was helped up and supported by Russ and Yamato.

"What the hell is going on here?" Korosov demanded. "Explain yourselves"

The Catachans immediately burst out various explanations, all of which added up to "It's the mutants fault!" Eragon angrily added his own voice to the fray, as did Russ.

"Enough!" Korosov barked. "All of you will be spending the rest of your day scrubbing out the ogryn's latrines. That includes you too major" he added to the Catachan who had started the whole mess.

The Catachans all protested and complained, but another shot into the air from his bolt pistol convinced them to shut up.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 17

The sun was setting by the time Saphira spotted it. They had searched for over two weeks for these ruins. They had gone across the Hadarac Desert and further than any since the time of the Riders, Saphira was sure of it. When they had arrived at the general area Murtagh made them search back and forth for the ruin. Apparently his recollection of its location was not perfect. It was all very irritating.

But now, at last, they had found it. What looked like the ruins of an exotic city stretched over the horizon. Even from this distance Saphira could see broken spires and strange, webbed, architecture, very similar indeed to the gate that the monster had disappeared through. Her heart lifted. _At last_ she thought.

_This is it_ Murtagh thought to Saphira and Angela.

_You don't say_ Angela replied. _That's Grey Folk if I ever saw it._

_We should wait until morning before we go to it._

_ Why?_ Saphira thought impatiently.

_Last I came here Galbatorix warned that there could still be residents who pose a threat. He forbade me and Thorn from following him into the city at all. And later, I could hear him using spells against…some things. Whatever it is, I will not enter the city only to fall to some night ambush._

_ An excellent policy_ Angela thought, _especially if these inhabitants are what I think they are._

_ And pray tell, what are they?_ Saphira asked, impatient to explore the ruins.

_Automatons, machines the likes of which have not been seen in Alagaesia for millennia. Sometimes they contained the consciousness of a dead warrior, other times they held an artificial mind. Primitive, but very effective at combat._

Saphira's scales rose at the idea of such unnatural magics. The idea of being attacked by things possessed of dead spirits was disturbing to say the least. Looking across to Thorn and his rider she saw that they were similarly affected. Perhaps Murtagh's policy was a good idea after all.

_Very well_ she said. _Let us remain outside the city for tonight._

Murtagh nodded, looking a little unnerved, and Thorn started his descent. Saphira followed, angling down toward the ground.

They chose a site behind a large hill, hoping to stay out of sight of the city and any necromantic inhabitants it may hold. Murtagh opted for no fire, again to keep away unwanted attention. Instead, they sat in a circle, Murtagh and the two dragons frequently looking in the direction of the ruins. Angela appeared supremely unconcerned.

_Angela_ Saphira queried, _what manner of beings were the Grey Folk, to command power over the void itself?_

Angela sighed. "Theirs is a tragic tale, as much as the humans themselves. The Grey Folk, or Eldar as they are properly known, are a very psychically, or magically as you would say, gifted race. They were not always so. But after the demise of their empire their king of…aah, it is a long and complicated tale, and a very sad one as well"

"Until sunrise, we have nothing but time" Murtagh pointed out.

"Very well" Angela said with a distant look on her face. "The Eldar are an ancient race, whose origins lie far beyond man's in the past. After the demise of their makers they built an empire that spanned the galaxy itself. Great were their works, and powerful were they as a race. But, sadly, it was not to last.

"No one knows for sure how it happened. But when the Chaos god Slaanesh was born, its psychic scream killed most of the Eldar and devoured their gods. Only a handful remained, among them the Exodites, who fled their old empire and settled other worlds"

"You speak of gods as if they are real" Murtagh noted.

Angela's face was uncharacteristically grim as she said "Oh, trust me when I say that there are gods. They exist, fully and completely"

_Are these the dwarven gods you speak of?_ Asked Saphira.

Angela snorted. "I wish. No, these are a completely different set of gods, ones that Alagaesia has forgotten"

_Tell us of them_ Thorn said.

"Very well. There are eleven gods total, in four different pantheons. The first and oldest of them are the C'tan, the star gods of the Necrontyr. There are four of them that I know of. There's the Nightbringer, the Deceiver, the Void Dragon, and the Outsider"

_What are they gods of?_ Saphira inquired.

"Death and destruction, lies and trickery, might, and, well, no one knows what the Outsider stands for.

"Next there is the Eldar pantheon. Only two of them still exist. Kaela Mensha Khaine, the god of war, and Celgorac, the trickster god, the Great Fool.

"Then there's the Chaos gods. There's Khorne, god of bloodshed and warfare, Tzeentch, the Architect of Fate, Nurgle, the Lord of Decay, and Slaanesh, god of debauchery of the worst kind.

"The last does not consider himself to be a god at all. He is the Emperor of Mankind, humanity's most powerful magician"

"Sounds like a cheery bunch" Murtagh commented dryly.

…

As the sun rose over the plain in the morning Saphira arched her neck and looked toward the city. Her scales gleamed in the sunlight, each and every one immaculately clean. It was vanity on her part, she knew, but if there was a fight ahead she wanted to look her best. Her adversaries should not only fear her, but admire her as well.

Her companions were also preparing for a fight. Murtagh was checking Zar'roc, to make sure it was belted securely, and Thorn was examining his claws, making sure each and every one was sharpened and ready.

"Well then" Angela said as she buckled her own sword, named Tinkledeath of all things, to her hip. "No point in delaying it. Let us be off" With that she finished her work and climbed onto Saphira's saddle. Murtagh vaulted onto Thorn, and together the two dragons set off for the city.

Time may have passed since Galbatorix visited the ruins, but Saphira could still see deep footprints approaching the city, doubtlessly where black-huge-Shruikan had approached in on foot. This was confirmed by the large depression where Shruikan must have waited for Galbatorix while he explored the city. Why Galbatorix had had the huge dragon wait she did not know. Perhaps Galbatorix wished for Shruikan not to damage the delicate-cobweb-city with his immense size.

They soon were over the outskirts of the city. Saphira scanned the ground, extending her mind out at the same time. She was determined not to be caught in a fight unawares. But her mind sensed nothing. The city was as dead as it looked. She saw what looked like skeletons of some beings. Some were very humanlike, while others possessed substantial differences.

_Angela_ Saphira asked, _what did the Grey Folk look like?_

_ Rather like the elves. Why?_

_ There are skeletons of other beings in here._

_ Show me._

Saphira obliged the herbalist, sending a picture of the strange skeletons, with their bony plates and blades on their hands.

_Land if you would_ Angela said. _I want to take a closer look at those things._

Saphira angled down, followed by Thorn, to the nearest of the skeletal figures. Upon closer inspection it was clear that it had suffered damage of some kind. The plates that covered its inner structure were chipped, and a small hole had been melted through its head. Saphira landed about fifty feet away from it. Angela slid down her side and approached the figure where it lay. She knelt next to it, inspecting it. She remained that way for a few minutes while Thorn circled overhead. She then stood up, and walked back to Saphira.

_ Well? What is it?_ Saphira asked.

_An automaton_ Angela replied, speaking to her three companions. _Apparently it was built to protect these ruins. Galbatorix must have destroyed it._ She paused as a thought occurred to her. _This may be a boon for us. All we need do is follow the trail Galbatorix must have made when he came through here. Wherever it leads will be where he discovered the lore he was looking for. And that may be where we discover the lore we seek._

_ Then let us start flying again so we can see the trail_ Saphira answered. Angela quickly climbed back onto the dragon's back, and Saphira took off again.

The lazy-one-eye-sun continued its slow rise as Saphira and Thorn started searching for the bodies of the guardian automatons. After a few minutes a path became clear to them. While they certainly weren't in an orderly line, there were enough groups of bodies to form a coherent path through the ruins. Saphira was not too surprised to see this. With hundreds of eldunari and nigh on a century to perfect his craft Galbatorix had to have been the most formidable mage in Alagaesia. Well, she amended herself, next to Eragon he was.

They soon found a structure with a larger concentration of skeletal remains outside. A cursory inspection of the surrounding area showed that the path they had been following ended here, so here it was that they landed. Saphira landed, carefully avoiding the remains of the skeletal guardians. All around her spires and other buildings formed from a cobweb-bone-stone surrounded and towered above her.

Angela dismounted and started toward the building. Murtagh followed. Saphira started forward, then realized that the opening in the building was too small for her. She growled, then charged forward, determined to smash a bigger entrance. She impacted on the dusty-sloped-wall before her.

The wall yielded a little. Encouraged, Saphira repeated this action until a section of the wall caved in, big enough for her to pass through. Angela merely raised an eyebrow at this and followed Saphira inside with Murtagh and Thorn.

The inside was dark, at least until Angela lit it with a whispered word. A soft glow then illuminated the inside of the building. The interior, like the exterior, was utterly alien, with cobweb supports and gently curving walls. Around the floor were raised podiums with glistening black tablets laying on top. The largest was in front, and the foursome approached it.

The top of the tablet was strangely free of dust or of any signs of wear. Like the other tablets, it glistened in Angela's werelight. Along the middle of the tablet was a row of glyphs. Angela bent over it, and touched her hand to its surface. Its glyphs then started morphing and moving across the tablet until it had arranged itself into new patterns. A multitude of new glyphs appeared below them, ordered in rows.

Murtagh had stiffened when the glyphs started to move, but Angela raised her right hand to stop him. "Don't worry" she said. "It's just turning its pages". Murtagh reluctantly relaxed.

The glyphs held their position for a minute, and then started the process of twisting and morphing again. This repeated several times before Angela apparently reached the end of the book.

_Well?_ Saphira asked. _What does it say?_

Angela answered "This is apparently a book of prophecies made when the Grey Folk first arrived in Alagaesia" She sighed in an annoyed fashion. "However it's written in a very symbolic fashion. Honestly! It's all very well to do it in literature, but why they couldn't just spit it out for their prophecies I do not know. Take this for example: 'Brothers united shall slay the son of the phoenix'. What does that mean? And this line here: 'It begins with the end of'" she hesitated for a moment and then said "'The Ancient Language; it ends with the great devourer'. It seems to be speaking about the end of the world. It's ominous certainly, but it's not clear at all"

"So now what?" Murtagh asked.

Angela sighed. "Now, we translate"

…

Nasuada would have sighed if she were alone. But she could not show any signs of her impatience. Orrin's ambassador was trying to argue Surda's way out of the restrictions she was trying to place on magicians. It was exceedingly frustrating.

She was about to give her answer when she heard Yelloweyes, the werecat who sat beside her throne, clear his throat. Both Nasuada and the ambassador froze, and looked at the werecat expectantly.

Yelloweyes spoke. "It begins with the death of the Ancient Language. It ends with the great devourer"

On Nasuada's other side, Elva shrieked and fainted.

…

Silently, they approached the world. In their thousands, they flocked toward it, the next source of their food and propagation as a species. Moving at unbelievable speeds, they continued their march toward this world. Soon it would be in their grip, and the feeding would begin.

But something was different about this world. Whereas others were defended, however futilely, by prey, something else defended this world. As the vanguard of the great swarm descended to begin the feast, great roiling walls of psychic energy formed, eviscerating the foremost organisms more effectively than any prey ever had before.

More and more of the great swarm collided with the walls, exploding as multicolored lights reached out and slashed them to ribbons.

Confusion swept through the collective mind of the swarm. What manner of defense was this? Something it had never seen before. But it would defeat this, the same way it defeated everything: through shear, overwhelming numbers.

More and more of the multitude smashed into the barriers. Some passed through, only to be struck by lightning bolts emanating from the wards. Others were torn apart as soon as they made contact with the boiling energies of the wall.

Still more of the predators pressed inward, determined to get past this defense and at the delicious prey that waited below. And now the walls started to show signs of weakening. The walls were thinning. Lights shone with weakening luminosity. But still, no monsters made it through.

It was a competition of endurance. Which side would could outlast the other. More and more of the swarm dedicated itself to smashing into the walls, only to be shredded as the psychic wards expended more and more of their energy trying to protect its precious world.

Finally, one lone organism was left. It hurtled forward with all the speed it could muster. The fatally weakened shields mustered one final bolt of energy that killed the beast and ripped it apart. Its energy spent, the walls collapsed with a flash.

That night, Alagaesians everywhere looked up into the sky to see the biggest shower of shooting stars ever recorded in history. They could not know that stars were actually the remnants of a great fleet. Nor could they know that amongst the falling debris, some were predators who still had life in them


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 18

Eragon hated the jungle. He hated the all pervading stench that permeated the air. He hated the patches of ground that turned out to be tar filled sinkholes or algae covered ponds. He hated the combination of humidity and temperature that made him sweat like a pig. Yes, Eragon hated the jungle, and he was convinced that the jungle hated him right back. It wasn't personal, he knew. The jungle seemed to hate everyone who passed within its borders. Every insect was poisonous, not to mention huge. Every animal had at least three natural weapons. Even the plants hated him. Eragon only had to walk through the forest and open his mind to feel the hostility emanating from each and every one of them. It was amazing to see just how many ways the jungle could threaten one's life.

Then there were the Catachans. Russ had told Eragon that they came from a hellish planet and by virtue of being raised there were the best jungle fighters in the Imperium. What he had not told him was that they had no respect for anyone other than another Catachan. Indeed, they seemed almost amused by the stumbling efforts of the Eris regiments to acclimate to the jungle. It did not seem to matter that many times the consequences of that were deadly. The Catachans didn't care.

Catachans were also anti authoritative. Rank seemed to have no effect on their behavior unless it was another Catachan. Even Korosov had trouble dealing with them, his shots in the air and blustering met only with condescending stares and sneering. Korosov was actually forced to execute one of them when he tried to draw a knife on the commissar. Korosov was the quicker draw however, and he quickly shot the mutinous soldier. After that he seemed to earn a little more obedience from the jungle fighters.

Unfortunately for Eragon he seemed to have made a social faux pas with the Catachans in his fight with the major a week ago by striking their leader. Or maybe it was because he looked like a mutant. Whatever the reason Eragon was a target of much of the Catachan's ire. Eragon would have dearly loved to respond, but Korosov and Captain Dare had forbidden him, furiously in Dare's case, from doing that. Hence, he was forced to put up with the constant mockery of the Catachans.

Currently, Eragon was on patrol with his squad. Dare had been surprised at the assignments. Apparently she thought storm troopers to be above such petty assignments as patrolling. But assigned they were, by Korosov no less. This was why Eragon was out in the jungle, clad in his carapace armor and armed with his heavy bolter and chainsword, patrolling the perimeter of Guard controlled jungle. Considering the nature of the jungle however, the Guard's control was tenuous at best. Between animals and the natives, patrol was a very risky proposition, which was why Eragon had his mind extended. The whisperings of the daemons were still there, but Eragon was willing to put up with them, such was the danger he was in.

Eragon pushed a leafy frond out of the way after a careful mental scan. Satisfied the plant was safe he moved on, clutching his heavy bolter. The fat ammunition belt that fed it swayed gently with his motion. Eragon's body felt hot and slick from the perspiration he shed in the awful temperature of the jungle. He was just glad his helmet stopped him from smelling the stink.

Eragon halted, and put his hand up while it was clenched in a fist. The other storm troopers, who were behind him, halted and looked at Eragon. After a week of braving the jungle they had learned to trust Eragon's supernatural senses.

Eragon started forward again until he came across an innocent looking vine that lay across the trail that had been hacked by earlier patrols. Eragon stopped ten feet away from the vine and followed its length until it disappeared into a tree trunk. Eragon nodded. This was what he sensed. He sighted in with his heavy bolter up and fired at the tree.

The 'tree' sprang to life as the vicious projectiles impacted on it. A cavernous mouth opened up and screamed in pain. Blood poured out of the wounds in its body. The other storm troopers quickly opened fire on the creature, their hellguns' cracking adding to the roar of the heavy bolter. The creature keeled over, succumbing to the multiple shots that shredded its organs.

Eragon put a final shot into the creature, killing it. He stood there for a moment, wishing that everything in the blasted jungle wasn't trying to kill him, and then he moved on. The storm troopers warily followed.

Eragon wasn't too surprised by what had just happened. What with the jungle trying to kill them this sort of thing happened all too often to patrols. Just yesterday three predators of various shapes and sizes had tried to ambush them. Three days before they had been attacked by a duo of natives. All those times they had been foiled by Eragon's mind scans.

Eragon sighed as he picked up the mental signature of another native. He extended his mind further in that direction and, to his great concern, found a very large group of native warriors following the first one, who apparently was just a scout. He dipped briefly into their minds to see if they had spotted the storm troopers. To his relief, they had not, but they appeared to be running from something. Eragon frowned as he delved deeper into the leader's mind. The leader's mind was a strange one, full of fears and superstitions, of terrible memories of dark rituals, and, most recently, of giants clad in black and crimson who had slaughtered his tribe with ease. Eragon nodded with his realization. They were running from a squad of Adeptus Astartes.

He looked back to his captain. "Captain" he said, "There is a large group of native warriors heading toward us"

"Have they spotted us?" Dare asked.

"No. They are being pursued by a squad of Adeptus Astartes"

Dare considered for a split second, then said "Then we shall do our duty to Emperor by assisting his Finest. Take up ambush positions. Bromsson, what direction are they coming from?"

Eragon gave the coordinates, then started looking for an ambush position with the rest of the storm troopers. He settled for nook in between two tree roots that was concealed by a screen of foliage. After a quick mental scan he deduced that the plants were benign enough, and without further ado he crouched into the position.

The storm troopers waited as seconds stretched into minutes. Other men might have fidgeted in their discomfort, but not the storm troopers. Even Eragon waited in disciplined silence for the natives to reach the killing ground.

A flash of movement caught Eragon's eye. He looked over to see a native skulking through the brush. Eragon's finger tightened on the trigger of his weapon, but he did not fire. Not yet.

More figures joined him. Eragon's eye's flicked up to see more of the natives scurrying along tree branches, like painted squirrels.

They all stopped and started to assume hidden positions. In the corner of his helmet's display, Eragon saw a signal from his squad leader: fire.

Eragon sighted in on a native, mounted on a giant cat like creature, and fired. A single bolt hurtled towards the native and hit it in the chest. The resulting explosion of the bolt tore the native in half.

As Eragon searched for another target he noted the shots of light from his companion's hellguns. Almost every one found its target, causing grievous damage to the unarmored warriors.

The natives were caught by surprise, and floundered about with no apparent leadership. Their confusion only increased when another group of figures emerged and collided with the natives. Eragon stopped firing in his surprise and looked at the newcomers in disbelief. They were orks. Wearing rudimentary camouflage and wielding cleavers and large pistols, they fell upon the natives. Eragon was surprised to hear no war cry at all from them.

"Kommandos" Russ hissed over the squads vox net.

"Mow them down" Dare ordered grimly.

Eragon sighted in on an ork, who was just finishing bisecting a native. The ork kommandos were taking a terrible toll on the natives. Blows from the natives that would have killed a human, be it by poisoning or by physical force, were merely shrugged off by the orks. It would not be long before the natives were killed off completely.

Eragon fired, blowing apart the ork nearest to him. The rest of the orks were lit up by the hellguns of the storm troopers as the beams incinerated skin and torched muscle and organs. This of course, caught the orks' attention. Some of them peeled off from their attack, looking around for their attackers. A couple turned towards Eragon's position. Eragon cursed. Apparently these orks were smarter than the usual run or greenskins.

One of them charged straight toward him, erasing any doubt about whether or not they knew where he was. Eragon shot the ork in the head, then yelled as a round from the other kommando hit him in the chest. Pain exploded on his ribs as Eragon's carapace armor stopped the projectile. He had just enough concentration left to shoot the ork who had shot him before he fell to the ground, coughing.

He lay there, desperately trying to regain his breath. The cracking of the hellguns continued, along with the booming sound of the orks' crude weapons and the shrill war cries of the native warriors. He knew the rest of his squad was in danger, but he could not bring himself to his knees, let alone his feet. The thought occurred to him that he was hopelessly vulnerable like this, and he concentrated even more on trying to regain his breath.

Then another sound joined the sounds of combat, a deep roar as loud as the orks' guns, but instead of wild firing they were disciplined bursts akin to the sound of Eragon's heavy bolter. Eragon struggled up on his elbows to see orks and natives falling everywhere in showers of gore. The Adeptus Astartes had arrived.

Eragon, his chest finally recovering from the blow it had taken, stood up to see that the space marines had indeed come. They were clad in armor like the Ultramarines, but theirs was red with black borders and backpacks. On their pauldrons was a symbol of a drop of blood with black bat wings.

From the looks of things they were just finishing their slaughter of the orks and natives. The bodies of the dead lay everywhere, mangled by bolter and hellgun shots. Something dropped on Eragon's shoulder. Eragon pulled the object and, realizing it was a human arm, threw it into the bushes.

The storm troopers warily abandoned their cover and approached their saviors, who were spreading out to scan the area. Their armor was scratched but otherwise showed no sign of damage. Eragon peevishly noted that one of the Astartes had been hit in the chest as well but had suffered no ill effects. Eragon looked to his own chest and saw the same projectile that had hit him lodged in his armor. He resolved to get his chest piece to a tech priest.

Captain Dare approached the Astartes and said "Lords, we thank you for your intervention and…"

"Be gone mortal" the Astartes commanded brusquely. Eragon raised an eyebrow at this behind his helmet. Apparently not all Astartes were as civil as the Ultramarines. In light of this knowledge he was certainly glad his helmet hid his elven features.

Dare looked taken aback at this, but she nodded and said "By your leave" She then turned and left, taking the rest of the squad with her.

The rest of the patrol was rather uneventful. Eragon had to splatter a few fist sized bugs, but otherwise there were no threats to him. Eragon was rather glad of this, and he was relieved when the storm troopers walked past the camouflaged sniper's nests that marked the perimeter of the Imperial Guard base.

Soon they passed between the two guard towers that marked one of the gates into the base. Eragon allowed himself to relax. For now, they were safe. Relatively speaking in any case he thought as the cracking of a longlas sounded over the camp. Everyone close by stiffened and gripped their weapons. After a few seconds of silence they all went back to their duties, reasonably sure that the sniper had disposed of the threat. The Catachans sniggered at the Erisians jumpiness.

From beneath his helmet, Eragon curled his lip at the Catachans. Superb jungle fighters they may be, his respect for them extended as far as theirs did for him. Not far at all.

The storm trooper squad continued to one of the base's shrines to make their devotions. This one in particular was not far at all from the entrance to the base used by Eragon's squad. This would have been risky under other circumstances, but due to the presence of the eviscerator wielding priests Eragon felt that this one was secure after all.

The shrine was not much more than a large and ornate tent with imperial icons and other objects of worship inside. Nevertheless, there was a solemn atmosphere about it. Eragon followed the rest of his squad inside the tent and reluctantly took off his helmet. The priests immediately noticed. Some snarled, while others looked like they were about to laugh at the mutant who sought favor from their Liege. Eragon tried to ignore it. The Emperor had spoken to him. The face that His servants hated him appeared as a great irony to him.

Eragon knelt with the rest of his squad, and Captain Dare lead them in a devotion to the Emperor. Normally Eragon would have spoken the words with only the intent to not be out of place. But as he knelt today, his mind turned to Saphira, and a wave of longing overtook him. More than ever, he wanted to see his dragon, speak with her, and touch her. It was awful.

Eragon began his part of the devotion, but mentally he was saying another thing. _Oh Holy Emperor_ he thought, _I come before you this day to make a request._

_ You have charged me with the healing of your son. But it has been five weeks since you contacted me, and I feel I am no closer to this goal than when you first spoke to me._

_ I know you gave me the symbol on my head to protect me, but I feel that I am still persecuted. Even the Ultramarines mistrust me, and insist that I prove my worth before they train me._

_ I know you want all humans to serve you, and I know that I am part human, but all I want is to see Saphira again_ he admitted_. Please, speed me along my journey to your son. Please help me._

He ended his prayer there, and continued with his devotions.

…

It was after the evening mealtime that Eragon's squad was ordered to Gagarin's tent for another briefing. Eragon and the storm troopers soon made their way to the lord commissar's command tent. Apparently the general couldn't be bothered with leaving the ship.

In keeping with the lord commissar's style, his tent was the same as the myriad others which composed the camp. No ornate designs or decorations for him. Aside from the fact that it was placed apart from the others Gagarin's tent could have been an average troop tent.

The storm troopers entered the tent and found, to Eragon's dismay, four Catachans already there. Worse, one of them was Jaq Bourne, the man whom Eragon had punched a week ago. Currently, he was in conversation with Gagarin. The lord commissar's back was turned, which meant that he did not see the other Catachans making rude hand gestures to Eragon and the storm troopers. Eragon's blood boiled at the sight, and it took all of his willpower to not start another fight. He gritted his teeth, hoping he could keep his composure. He looked to the other storm troopers. Not a single reaction from them, except for Russ, who was doing the exact same thing back.

That nearly started a fight between the two groups. Indeed, the fight would have raged had not Gagarin turned around in time, terminating his conversation with Bourne and fixing his gaze on the assembled guardsmen. The gestures on both sides stopped as the assembled men felt the weight of Gagarin's gaze. Major Bourne moved to join his fellow Catachans.

"I've called you together to brief you all on your new mission" Gagarin started.

The troops stiffened, and Eragon allowed himself to focus on the man.

"A squad of the Angels Encarmine has informed me that they are finished clearing out one of the possible locations of the STC. It's a former tribe of natives about forty kilometers from here"

Eragon had mixed feelings about what he had just heard. On the one hand, the natives wasted no opportunities to attack the Guard. But on the other hand, the guardsmen were a hostile invading army. And judging from the memories of the native whose mind he had glimpsed the Angels Encarmine had been especially thorough in their "clearing out" as Gagarin put it.

"Your mission" Gagarin continued, "is to escort Magos Yari Ideon to the village for inspection. Major Bourne will lead the expedition"

Eragon couldn't believe it. He and the storm troopers going with the Catachans was a recipe for disaster. The Catachans already disliked them for being storm troopers. The fact that half of the squad had already picked a fight with these same Catachans made things even worse.

"Commissar Korosov will be going with you to ensure discipline and cooperation" Gagarin said, "But I expect his intervention to be unnecessary. Is that understood?" The last words were stated forcefully, as if Gagarin was trying to impress upon them the seriousness of these orders.

"Sir, yes, sir" Dare responded.

Major Bourne merely said "Of course"

Gagarin looked at the Catachan doubtfully before nodding. "Good. Commanding officers, stay here with me. The rest of you are dismissed"

…

For his part, Eragon thought that this was a terrible idea. Assigning three squads of Catachans with a commissar they particularly hated and a squad of storm troopers that they hated almost as much was practically begging for trouble. Though maybe that was what the lord commissar wanted, he speculated. Maybe he was hoping that someone would kill Eragon. After all, the lord commissar didn't care for Eragon either. Eragon shook his head. The lord commissar had sent Korosov. That meant he sincerely hoped that order would be maintained. Eragon fervently hoped that would prove to be the case.

Major Bourne led the way, with Captain Dare close behind. Korosov walked behind her, and following him was a squad of Catachans. Then came the magos, clad in his red robes, glancing nervously from one side to the other. Eragon had heard that the man had petitioned for an armored squad to accompany him. Gagarin had turned him down, apparently because the foliage was too dense for any tank or walker to move through. So it was left to the infantry to guard him.

The magos had come with a quartet of servitors. Two were armed with ranged weapons, a heavy bolter and plasma cannon respectively. The other two had close combat weapons, weapons that Eragon had learned were called power swords. They looked like regular swords, except for the faint field of energy that encapsulated them. Then there was a retinue of assistants and other followers of the magos that numbered ten people. It was Eragon thought, a lot of people to protect given the circumstances.

Eragon shot a look a Korosov who, by coincidence, was looking back at him. Korosov tried to manage a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Eragon could not blame him. Being surrounded by thirty Catachans was a rather dire situation for a commissar after all. Eragon had heard stories from Russ about so called fragging incidents. Eragon had then gone to warn Korosov of this, but it was unnecessary. "I'm perfectly aware of this" Korosov had snapped. Then his eyes softened and he said "All the same, thank you for your concern". Commissars made few friends. Mutants too. Eragon sincerely hoped that he was not about to lose one in this expedition.

_Wait, did I just think of myself as a mutant?_ He thought to himself. _This culture is getting to me. I have to get back home before…_

Before what? Would he, Eragon, fully absorb all the Imperium's faults, including its hatreds? Would be indoctrinated to hate himself and all that he had stood for? Would he hate Alagaesia and all his friends there? Would he hate Saphira? The thought was unbearable.

Eragon shoved such thoughts aside and tried to concentrate on his mental scans. With the whisperings of the daemons in the back of his mind it was a surprisingly easy thing to do given the thoughts he was trying not to think. With the whisperings quelled, he resumed his search for trouble. His search revealed a seething cauldron of hostility rolling off the plants and insects that observed him. If given the chance, they would certainly attack the large party of interlopers that crossed their path. Eragon concluded that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

There were noises coming from everywhere. From the scraping of foliage off the garments of the guardsmen to the sounds of large insects buzzing, to the occasional snap of a twig as a storm trooper stepped on it, noise surrounded them. The guardsmen however made no attempts at conversation. Everyone of them was too busy scanning for threats. Sometimes Eragon would see a storm trooper cast a glance at him, perhaps looking for any sign of warning from their psyker. Eragon sincerely hoped that he would not let them down.

A twig snapped. The storm troopers stiffened and looked around, as did the tech priest's retinue. The Catachans merely sniggered and continued on. The storm troopers relaxed and started forward again. Again, Eragon furiously wondered what had possessed Gagarin to assign the Catachans to his squad.

As they continued forward, they heard what sounded like a loud fart. They all stopped and looked to the middle of their group. The tech priest had apparently stepped into one of the camouflaged tar pits that Eragon so loathed. His red robes were now splattered with the black substance, and his limbs were flailing about.

"Hold still" Korosov ordered. "Bromsson, pull him out"

Eragon walked to the floundering tech priest, being careful not to get stuck in the pit himself. Thankfully, it seemed that this particular pit was a small one, and Eragon was soon within reaching distance of one of the priest's limbs. He grabbed the priest by his mechanical arm and, without a word, dragged him up and out of the pool. The priest took a moment to try and clean the tar off his robes, then gave up as his efforts only spread it around. Korosov, seeing that the man was fine, nodded and said "Proceed" He turned around and started forward again.

Eragon followed the rest of the group as they continued onward, glancing at the ground sometimes to check for more tar pits. They could be infuriatingly hard to spot on this planet, what with the abundant foliage that covered them sometimes. Still, there were clues to be had about their presence. A lack of insects for one, Eragon thought absently as he swatted a large fly that was trying to bite through his armor. The insect exploded into small goblets of goo as his armored fist smashed in into his chest piece.

He extended his mind out, starting another search for possible enemies. To his dismay, he found some. A whole pack of them actually.

Eragon stopped and looked behind the group, toward a particularly dense clump of foliage. Seeing this, the rest of the storm troopers did the same. The process continued until Dare, Korosov, and Bourne noticed the whole group had come to stop.

"What is it?" Korosov asked.

"We're being followed" Eragon answered. As if to punctuate his statement, the clump of bushes Eragon was watching rustled. Then something exploded out of it. Eragon found himself staring at a beast with the most gaudily colored face he had seen. Its body would have suggested a cat's were it not for the scales that covered it. Its face looked a bit like one had take a human face, elongated the part with the nose, and given it evil looking eyes and tusks.

Eragon wasted no time in gunning the would be predator down, the heavy bolter roaring. The beast didn't even have time to squeal before its head exploded. Bits of bone and brain matter flew everywhere as the body plowed into the ground.

As if a signal was given, the rest of the pack followed their leader into the open. It was a hopelessly stupid act, as lasguns and hellguns lit them up. Limbs were burnt off, heads exploded, organs hissed as they were superheated by beams of energy.

This, Eragon reflected, was a rather easy fight. Still, minding what Glaedr had told him, he extended his mind out behind as well as in front of him. To his dismay, he found another group of the predators approaching from behind.

"There's another group behind us" Eragon shouted to Korosov. The commissar nodded and then shouted "Squads one and two, with me!" With that he took the two squads of Catachans and turned to flush out the second group. Eragon and the rest of the men continued with the massacre of the beasts that had made the mistake of attacking them.

One of the beasts managed to get too close to shoot, so Eragon punched it, breaking its jaw and sending it flying backward, right into Russ' line of fire. He quickly took the shot

"Yeah!" Russ whooped. "Two in one shot! Can't do that with a bolter!"

Eragon grinned, in spite of the situation. Leman Russ would never pass up an opportunity for a fight. His grin faltered when he sensed a rush of hostile intent behind him. He turned, just in time to see one of the Catachans throw a grenade. But it wasn't directed at one of the beasts attacking from the rear. Instead, it landed at the feet of Commissar Korosov, who was busy shooting down the beasts as they attacked. The commissar had no idea what had happened. So Eragon acted.

He turned and sprinted toward Korosov. He kicked the grenade off to the side, where it fell into another cluster of bushes and exploded.

Eragon breathed a sigh of relief and joined in the gunning down of the last of the beasts attacking them. As the last of their attackers fell to the ground, Korosov turned and saw Eragon standing next to him. "I hope you have a good reason for breaking formation" he said in a deceptively mild tone.

Eragon was not so mild in his response. "You were nearly fragged. I saved you" he said bluntly.

Korosov's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed in anger. He turned to the Catachans and barked "Line up! Now!"

The Catachans did so, grumbling, and Korosov proceeded to inspect them. Eragon wasn't sure what he was looking for until Korosov came to a man who was missing one of his grenades. Then it hit him. There had only been one grenade thrown during the entire battle, the one that had nearly killed the commissar. "You" Korosov snarled, "Step forward. The rest of you, form a perimeter" When the Catachans didn't do so, Korosov chambered a round into his bolt pistol. The harsh, mechanical noise galvanized the reluctant Catachans into action. The chosen man stepped forward, and Korosov said "You want to be the morale officer? Fine. You and me, right here, right now. No weapons, just one knife each. You win, you get to be the commissar. I win, and the next time this happens there will be an execution. Got it?"

The man nodded grimly, and Korosov said "Captain Dare, strip me of my weapons. Bromsson, take his weapons" Both Dare and Eragon approached their objectives. The Catachan snarled as Eragon came near, but when Russ aimed his hellgun in response, he allowed Eragon to take one of his two knives and his lascarbine. Satisfied that the Catachan was weaponless, aside from his knife, Eragon stepped back.

The two combatants, now only armed with combat knives, circled each other slowly. Eragon was on tenterhooks, hoping that Korosov knew what he was doing. If he didn't, Eragon was certain that the commissar would be gutted like a fish.

Korosov made the first move, slashing forward with his knife. The Catachan moved like a viper, moving his knife hand out of the way. At the same time, he punched with his other hand, putting his whole body behind the blow. Korosov saw the blow coming, but was only able to get his head partially out of the way. Still, he managed to roll with the blow, and while Eragon was sure it hurt, Korosov did not appear to be too affected by it.

Quick as lightning, Korosov snagged the Catachan's punching arm in a firm grip. The Catachan's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed as he tried to wriggle out. Korosov made a move, slashing again with his knife. With a desperate strength the Catachan yanked Korosov's arm to the side, interrupting the blow with Korosov's own arm. In that moment Eragon saw that the commissar's arm was exposed, and so did the Catachan. He slashed with his own knife. Korosov managed to yank his arm out of the way, and the knife barely grazed his sleeve.

In that moment Korosov seized his chance. He dropped his own knife and then lashed out, grabbing the Catachan's knife hand. Just as quickly as he had seized it, he twisted the knife out of the Catachan's hand.

It was a brilliant stroke of luck, Eragon thought. Korosov had just turned a knife fight into a fist fight. As long as Korosov kept the Catachan from getting his knife, the commissar had the upper hand. At least, he hoped he did.

The two Guardsmen's arms were twisted around each other for a moment, and then Korosov released the Catachan's arms. It was a mistake. The Catachan immediately dove for his knife, and only a well placed kick to the jaw prevented him from getting it. He stumbled back a bit, and Korosov was on him. He threw a flurry of punches. Some were deflected from him, but most landed.

Then the Catachan brought his leg up and smashed it into the fork of Korosov's legs. Eragon yelled out, only to notice that Korosov was unaffected. The Catachan noticed this as well, and his surprise bought Korosov the time he needed to retaliate by kneeing him back in the same spot. The Catachan's eye's crossed, his legs buckled, and he collapsed, moaning.

Eragon, Russ, and some of the tech priest's retinue cheered as Korosov drew back, a satisfied smile on his face. The rest of the storm troopers looked on stoically while the Catachans were surprised. Surprised and very dismayed, Eragon noticed. _Good_ he thought viciously.

As Korosov drew near Eragon congratulated him. Korosov smiled, and then Eragon asked "How were you not affected by that last blow?"

Korosov's smile widened. "Unlike some, I wear body armor" was all he said.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 19

When Eragon saw the first hut of the village it evoked mixed emotions for him. On one side, the blasted mission had succeeded. Despite hostile wildlife, giant bugs, and the Catachans, they had successfully escorted the magos and his retinue through the forest. Eragon was ready for a relief from the awful jungle in which he found himself.

On the other side, when he saw that the hut was above the ground in the trees, he added to his still growing list of things he did not like about this mission. Somehow they had to get the magos and his assistants up to the canopy of the forest.

Korosov stopped, also recognizing the edge of the village, and muttered to himself "This wasn't in the briefing" If Captain Dare was daunted, she didn't show it. Instead, she turned to her storm troopers and ordered "Split into pairs. See if you can find a way up"

Eragon immediately sought out Russ. Finding him, the two of them set off to the left of the company, searching. Eragon wasn't sure what they were looking for. A vine maybe, or a ladder. Maybe even stairs, though after seeing the natives' dexterity he doubted they needed one, even when considering the colossal size of the trees. Looking around though he did not find anything. Russ did run afoul of one of the jungle cats that lived here and Eragon was forced to incinerate a swarm of predatory insects, but for the life of it Eragon saw no visible way up.

He did however, find something much more horrifying. At one point he saw a pile of charred skeletons, probably the remnants of the tribe that had lived here before the Angels Encarmine had pushed them out. Althought seeing the pile of bones Eragon had to revise "pushed out" to "exterminated". The skeletons were heaped carelessly on the ground, and surrounded by a circle of blackened foliage. This was apparently where the Astartes had cremated their victims.

Looking at the bones Eragon saw several were fractured, most of the time evidenced by a wrecked ribcage. It looked like the sort of damage done by bolter fire. Others were missing limbs, and the places where they should have been were cut clean off. And to Eragon's utter horror, several of the skeletons were smaller, belonging to children. He stepped back, tears coming to his eyes. Russ noticed this, and put a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "Come on" he said, "Let's go back to the Captain"

"That doesn't make sense" Dare said when Russ made their report. "How did the Astartes make it up then?"

"I think I know" Major Bourne said. He turned and walked away. Korosov followed, and the rest of the company followed suit.

Bourne led them through the trunks of the trees that supported the huts of the village. Soon they arrived at the base of a veritable monster of a tree. It was huge, even when compared to the other trees that surrounded it. Again, Eragon was reminded of the Menoa Tree. Looking up through the leaves and branches Eragon saw a larger building supported by the boughs of the tree. More importantly however, looking at the trunk he saw a series of holes in the bark, as if something large and very strong had punched holes through the bark to climb to the top. If anyone could do it, Eragon thought, it was the Astartes.

"I guess that's our way up" Dare said.

"That may be our way up, but what about them?" Bourne asked, pointing to the magos and his retinue. "I doubt those pussies have the strength to do it"

The men of the tech cult bristled at the insult, but Korosov nodded grudgingly, seeing the problem. Then his eyes alit on Eragon, and he nodded.

"Bromsson" he called. Eragon walked over and said "Sir?"

"Can you carry these men to the top?" he asked.

Eragon considered it. He would be burdened by his carapace armor, and the there was quite some height to be covered, but if he used the handholds left by the Astartes, then he could at least carry a few up.

"I can carry the magos up and some of his assistants" Eragon reported. "It will have to be one at a time however"

Korosov nodded, then looked to the magos and said "You heard him. Get on his back"

The magos spluttered in surprise and tried to argue, but Korosov would have none of it. In the end, the magos walked over to Eragon, who slung him onto his back like a father from Carvahall giving his child a piggyback ride. He then approached the tree trunk, but Korosov said "Wait. Captain Dare, if you would lead the way". Dare nodded, and without further ado she slung her hellgun across her back and began to climb. Shen was the next one to go, expertly gripping the handholds and hoisting himself up with animalistic grace.

When two more storm troopers had gone up it was Eragon's turn. He gripped the handholds with his hands and then started the long journey up the trunk of the tree.

It was not an easy trip. Though the handholds were quite deep Eragon could tell they were made for hands bigger than his own. Once he almost lost his grip, and only by digging his glove pitons into the bark did he prevent his fall. He managed to recover, and he soon had a firm grip on the nearest handhold once again.

To make matters worse, halfway up the tree, the magos began talking to Eragon, as if he needed another distraction. Between climbing and scanning the tree for threats he could ill afford another thing to concentrate on.

"I have been measuring you storm trooper" the magos announced in a surprisingly fluent voice. Eragon expected traces of the normal farting sound that he made when he normally talked, but his voice was clear of such blemishes.

"Aye?" Eragon grunted as he hauled himself up to a rather distant handhold. He wasn't sure, but he suspected that this line of questioning would lead to some rather awkward subjects.

"Your strength is not natural. Even storm troopers and their augmentations pale in comparison to you. Even now, when my weight would have overcome a normal man's capacity to climb, you carry me up. Tell me, how have you been augmented?"

Eragon considered how to answer the question. He felt certain that admitting the full truth of his transformation at the Blood Oath ceremony would immediately brand him as…what was the term? Ah yes, a heretic. He would have to go with a less detailed version.

"I grew up on a feudal world" Eragon answered truthfully. "No one exactly knows how I was augmented"

"I see" the magos said, and he spoke no more, for which Eragon was grateful.

Thankfully, Eragon managed to make it to the structure that was nestled in among the branches of the tree. As he made the final few feet Stark and Shen, who had made it to the top before him, grabbed his arms and hauled him up and over the edge of the platform that surrounded the building.

Eragon managed to make two more trips up and down the tree before his muscles gave out. By the time he had finished the third trip he was panting heavily, and he knew from the shaking in his limbs that it would not be safe to make a fourth. He sat down and pulled out a canteen of water. Just as he was about to drink he heard someone approaching. He turned to see the magos walking toward him. Eragon suppressed a groan and wearily got to his feet. As he did so he noticed a weighty tramping moving towards them. He turned to see the squad of Angels Encarmine that were walking toward the group of storm troopers and Catachans. With their red on black colors and their bat winged insignia Eragon recognized them as the squad that had saved him from the orks four days ago. They seemed to be clustering around one of their number. Eragon heard a strange panting coming from one of the members of the group.

Rage roared in Eragon like a livid dragon as he looked at the Astartes. These were the murderers who were responsible for the callous extermination of this tribe, the ones who were so depraved they murdered even children, and took no prisoners in their murderous spree.

They stopped about thirty feet away, except for two members of the group, who continued forward to greet the guardsmen. Eragon would have paid attention to what was said had not the magos stopped in front of him and said "Storm trooper, I require that you take off your helmet"

"Why?" Eragon asked suspiciously.

"So that I may see how your augmentation has affected you" the magos replied.

Eragon considered it. To take his helmet off would be to reveal the fact that he was indeed altered. But if he didn't, the magos' suspicions would be confirmed anyway. At least if he took his helmet off the magos would see the Emperor's sign on his head.

Eragon released the clasps holding the helmet in place and took it off. The magos took a step back as he saw Eragon's face, and he was not the only one to notice.

"Kill the mutant!" a deep, baritone, rage filled voice shouted out. Eragon spun around to face the Astartes, and saw one of them pushing his way through the others. His uniform was like the other, except more decorated. Perhaps the man was a sergeant, Eragon thought. The most defining thing about him however was the look of utter rage on his face. Eragon was not aware that such depths of anger existed, so total was the look on his face.

Eragon could not be sure, but he felt a similar look must be on his face as he looked at the armored murderer in front of them. So, this monster wanted to fight. Then it would be Eragon's personal pleasure to put down this rabid dog right here, right now. He breached the barrier in his mind and shouted "Brisingr!" A stream of blue warp fire issued from Eragon's palm.

With the surprising speed of the space marines the sergeant dodged the attack, and Eragon heard the sound of a bolt round being chambered repeated multiple times. Eragon looked to the rest of the Astartes and saw they had all pointed their bolters at him.

"No mind witchery mutant. Do so again and you die" one of them grated. Eragon looked at them in disbelief. Not only were they making no attempt to restrain their fellow marine, they were turning this into some sort of macabre show, complete with its own rules. Eragon looked back at his opponent, who was somehow smiling despite his rage. It was the smile of a predator who knows his prey is vulnerable.

Eragon pulled his chainsword out, wishing he had not left his heavy bolter at the bottom of the tree. It had been too awkward to carry up, he had felt. Now he was going to pay the price for that sentiment.

The enraged marine roared and charged. Eragon readied himself. As it turned out however, he wasn't ready enough. The Astartes smashed Eragon's sword out of his hand with a speed and strength that was surprising even for a space marine. His fingers felt agony as the chainsword was dashed from them, but more than that Eragon now felt fear as the Astartes' free hand descended and grabbed Eragon's hand and hoisted him into the air. The rider lashed out helplessly, landing blows that would have easily killed a normal human. But his opponent was no normal human. He merely gave another rage filled shout and pulled his sword back.

The thought occurred to Eragon that in this position his adversary shielded him from the bolters of the other space marines. They would still kill him, but he would have enough time to drag their leader down with him. He launched a full attack on his opponent's mind.

He found nothing but utter rage. Rage covered everything in the Astartes' mind. It had consumed him, and made him nothing but vessel for it. Rage was his utter being. Eragon bashed against the Astartes' mind but could find no purchase. The sheer rage defeated him.

The wild thought occurred to Eragon that maybe if he got rid of this rage he could still stand a chance. The question was how. Then he remembered something else. A story from Jeod, of something his mother Selena had done. When faced with ten of Morzan's finest swordsmen she had used the word heal in the Ancient Language to heal them of their anger, fear, and drive to kill. Maybe Eragon could do something like that.

The sergeant pulled his arm back, ready to execute Eragon. With nothing left to loose, Eragon shouted "Waise Heil!"

…

Leman Russ could only watch helplessly as his newest friend was turned into the murderous sport of these Astartes. Sanginius himself would have been disgusted with the behavior of these his sons Russ thought bitterly. That fact however wasn't going to save Bromsson.

Russ watched as the Astartes who was lost to the Black Rage charged, watched him bash the sword from Eragon's grasp, watched him grab the helpless psyker and prepare to execute him like a butcher would a pig. Then he heard Bromsson say something, something that sounded like wahsay-heal.

"No!" Russ shouted as he realized what was going on. Bromsson was psyking, despite what the Angels Encarmine had told him. He looked frantically to the other space marines, bringing his hellgun up in a futile gesture. Sure enough, the Astartes had brought their bolters up and were ready to fire.

But they didn't. Not one shot came from them. Russ, relieved and confused, looked back to Eragon. To his surprise, he was still alive. What was more; a golden glow surrounded him, softly illuminating his surroundings.

_What the…_Russ thought, but trailed off as more of the changes came. The golden light increased, and Bromsson himself seemed to change. He grew taller, his once dangling feet touching the ground. His carapace armor turned to golden metal, gracefully carved into intricate shapes. His body swelled, achieving proportions equal to that of an Astartes. His face lost the inhuman angles that characterized it, becoming more human, nobler, more patrician. Where a look of desperation and fear had been on his face, there was now an expression as tender as a father's was to a sick child. His hair, once close cropped and brown, lengthened and changed to the color of gold, matching his armor. At the same time, Russ felt a familiar mental presence. But what was most noteworthy was the pair of wings that erupted from his back, white and graceful as a swan's.

Russ's hellgun fell from his hands. He could not believe what he was seeing. In all his millennia of living, he never dared to think, never dreamed of something like this happening. "Sanginius?" he whispered in disbelief.

Then it was gone. The wings, the light, the golden armor, the face, everything was gone, and Russ once again saw Eragon Bromsson dangling from an Astartes' hand.

…

Eragon shook his head, and felt the hand that was holding him in the air loosen and let go. He fell to the ground and landed on his feet, ready for action. He needn't have bothered though. Where once his helmetless adversary's face had been contorted in anger, it was now a picture of serenity. His eyes were closed, and a smile graced his lips. He made no move at Eragon, merely standing there, and then he did a strange thing. He whispered "Thank you" and knelt before him.

Eragon was completely taken aback by this. Utterly defanged, he looked over the kneeling space marine at his fellows. They were standing stock still, staring at him. Most were helmeted, but judging from the fact that a couple of them had dropped their bolters they were as surprised as Eragon was. He turned and looked to the storm troopers. They too were wearing their helmets. They too were also staring at him. Like a couple of the space marines, Russ had even dropped his gun. The magos and his retinue were staring at him too, with wonder in their eyes.

For a full minute they all stared at him. Eragon was beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he asked "Why are you staring at me?"

That seemed to snap most of them out of their reverie. Russ came forward, taking off his helmet in the process. "Eragon" he said a tone a serious as the grave, "What did you do to him?"

Eragon said simply "I healed him of his anger"

Russ rocked back, and stared at him as if he were some bizarre alien. "You did what?" he asked.

"His mind was dominated by anger. I healed him of it" Eragon said.

"But how did you change?" Russ blurted.

"Change?" Eragon asked, puzzled.

"You grew wings! You were taller! Throne boy, you looked like Sanginius!"

"I didn't do that. I just healed him" Eragon said, bewildered.

"Did you feel any different?" Russ pressed. Eragon thought for a moment. He had felt terrified yes, but then…there had been something else.

"I suppose so" Eragon admitted.

"What is your full name?" one of the Astartes inquired.

"Eragon Bromsson" Eragon said.

The marine walked forward and knelt in front of the rider. "Then all hail Eragon Bromsson, Blessed of Sanginius!"

…

_"Hmm" Cegorach mused. "Now who did that I wonder"_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20

_000 M42_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 5_

_ The forty second millennia has dawned on us, and yet I find little to celebrate. For four weeks that pompous idiot Gagarin would have had us separated from Bromsson. It has taken that long for Codicier Caesar, Techmarine Vicinius, and me to find the camp where Bromsson is located. It is frustrating, to say the least, to be obstructed in such a manner, especially by one of the Emperor's fellow servants. Yet finally, we arrive only to see that another chapter has laid claim on him._

_ I am aware to some degree of the curse that besets the Blood Angels and their descendents, the Angels Encarmine. I know not the details of this ailment, but no Astartes can claim to not know of it at all. The Angels Encarmine claim that while one of their number was in the throes of this curse Bromsson worked a miracle and absolved him of it. I cannot say how this was done, but done it is, and now the sons of Sanginius are adamant in their ownership of him._

_ I receive this news with mixed feelings. Surely it is a sign that the mark is true, for such a miracle is almost unheard of. Yet I cannot help but wish that Bromsson had proved his Blessed status in another way, one that would not involve another chapter claiming ownership of him._

_ I go now to make the case for his release back into the custody of the Ultramarines. I do not anticipate an easy argument._

…

Eragon sat in his tent, unsure of where he stood currently. It had taken another three days for the Angels Encarmine to make their way back to the camp where he had started from. Since then, he was barred from any activities outside of the perimeter. Apparently these Astartes had just laid claim to him and wished him out of danger's way. Eragon idly wished he actually was as he swatted a huge fly with nasty looking jaws out of the air.

Eragon wondered to himself why he had not taken advantage of the Astartes' surprise and killed his opponent. _Because he wasn't a threat_ he thought to himself. He had just healed him of that unnatural anger that had possessed him, and the space marine had been grateful for it. Despite his crimes he couldn't bring himself to kill a man who was not a danger. Besides, it might have been the Black Rage that had driven him to the terrible slaughter he had inflicted. Eragon found himself hoping that that was the reason.

His new custodians had informed him of the Black Rage, the terrible mental illness that could seize one of them at any moment. Eragon had never heard of a people being so afflicted. The closest analogy he could think of was what Nar Garzhvog had told of the Urgals and their warlike nature. But even that fell short. And now Eragon had revealed a cure, just like he had the Urgals.

Eragon again found himself hoping that it had been the Black Rage that had driven those Astartes to the great slaughter that they had inflicted. He did not think he could bear serving a chapter comprised of such monsters if it were otherwise. The thought struck him that maybe if the Black Rage wasn't to blame then perhaps the Ultramarines were the same. He found himself wishing that he could talk to Dreadnought Ullmar about this, but at the same time, he was afraid of what he might say.

His thoughts continued on. Perhaps, he mused, the whole of the Imperium was like this. He quickly shook his head. No, he thought, they couldn't all be monsters. At least, he hoped that was the case.

He looked outside to see an Angel Encarmine stride past the opening to his tent. Ever since he had returned to the camp five of the Astartes had been assigned as his bodyguard. They accompanied him everywhere, always insisting that Eragon allow them to scan for any threats before he entered an area. Eragon sighed again.

Despite the fact that he was mostly out of harm's way the specter of serving these possible monsters was not an attractive one. Eragon again hoped that something would extract him from this situation.

He regretted that wish a minute later, for as soon as he had thought it he heard a strange crackling sound outside his tent. At the same time five minds suddenly appeared out of nowhere. One moment it was like they hadn't existed, the next they were simply there. Eragon then heard a strange humming noise followed by the agonized shouts of four of his bodyguards. Eragon felt their pain keenly, and he jumped to his feet as he heard the roar of bolter fire as the last Astartes standing retaliated against these strange attackers. One of the new minds disappeared in a burst of pain.

Eragon tried to launch a mental assault against one of the attackers. His efforts were in vain however, for the newcomers possessed iron hard defenses that he could not breach. As the last Astartes fell, Eragon grabbed his chainsword and prepared to make his stand.

They came into his tent then. They wore helmets that tapered into conical ends over red armor. What the armor was made out of Eragon did not know, but it resembled the armor he had seen on the elves that he had seen attacking the orks, albeit with more armor plating. Within the chest plate were several gem like objects, the function of which Eragon did not know or care about. Moving swiftly, they ran toward Eragon.

Eragon yelled and tried to slash one with his chainsword. The weapon bit deep into the attacker's armor, but did not kill it. Another of the attackers promptly bashed Eragon over the head in a sharp, disciplined blow. Eragon collapsed, his sight blackening.

…

Severus Ullmar and his small entourage were with the captain of the Angels Encarmine's fourth company, an Astartes called Captain Celadus. As soon as the captain had arrived they had insisted on meeting with him and arguing the case that Bromsson should be released back into the Ultramarines' custody. It was proving difficult, not because of the good captain's belief, but because of his skepticism.

"And you saw this…miracle with your own eyes?" the captain was asking.

"Yes" Severus said adamantly. "I was there to see it when the Emperor marked him with His own countenance. He had just fought a daemonhost and has done nothing but the Emperor's will since then"

"So you say, and yet he attacked one of my men"

"By all accounts your soldier was in the throes of the…" Severus paused, wondering how to best phrase this without offending the captain. He settled for the term gene curse. "…of the gene curse when he mistook Bromsson for an enemy. It was an honest mistake brought about by the affliction you suffer from. What was Bromsson supposed to do other than defend himself?"

"What about healing him immediately instead of attacking?"

Severus hesitated. In truth he did not know why Bromsson had chosen to try and fight the enraged Astartes instead of healing him straight off.

The captain, seeing the Ultramarine's hesitation, pressed on. "If he is marked like you say he is then why did he not heal immediately or inform us of his gift? I can think of many others in need of a cure"

"Perhaps he was unaware of his gift until he was attacked" Severus retorted. "Despite his station he is still a psyker in training"

Celadus' lip curled. "A psyker you say. To me it stinks of sorcery"

"Are you calling my chapter one of liars?" Severus asked, restraining the anger he felt at the notion. "I witnessed the miracle with my own senses. He has been examined by the codicier here" he said, motioning to Caesar. The librarian affirmed this statement with a nod.

"He has…" Captain Celadus trailed off, and he stopped walking forward. Severus stopped also and moved his sight forward. They had just heard the unmistakable sound of bolter fire. Worse, it came from the same direction as Bromsson's tent. The party of Astartes broke into a run, barreling through the camp. They soon arrived at Bromsson's tent. There was nothing truly conspicuous about it other than the corpses that surrounded it. Celadus ran forward, cursing whoever had done this. The other Astartes were quick to follow.

Severus did a scan on the nearest body. He had been ambushed, that much was clear. Who did the ambushing was soon answered as he continued his search. Then he saw the red clad figure by the first Astartes body. If he could, he would have nodded.

"Eldar" Celadus hissed out. He put his helmet on and spoke into his vox. "Angels Encarmine" he said, barely repressing his rage, "Five of our number have been killed by Eldar forces. Begin your search for them"

"There is no point in doing so" Caesar said bluntly. "The attackers were warp spiders. They could be on the other side of the planet by now"

"Sir!" a voice from inside the tent shouted. The assembled space marines turned to see Techmarine Vicinius emerge from the tent holding a guardsman sized chainsword. "They have taken Bromsson. His transponder confirms it"

"Transponder?" Celadus questioned.

Severus heard Vicinius explain how he had placed a beacon on Bromsson's armor in order to keep track of him. Severus himself was too numb with horror to speak. He couldn't believe it. The blasted Eldar had stolen Bromsson. Truly, he snarled to himself, this was proof that nothing good could ever come from the xeno.

As the dreadnought focused back on the conversation he heard the Angel Encarmine captain ask the whereabouts of Bromsson's beacon, and Vicinius answering. Hope began to flare in him. The Eldar had not taken the beacon off of the Marked Man. There was still hope.

"Then to the southern ruins we go" Celadus was grating out. He started to turn, but Severus stopped him.

"Captain, do we have your permission to fight alongside you against these duplicitous xenos?" the dreadnought asked.

The captain appeared to consider this, then nodded. "Permission granted" he responded.

…

Eragon's world swam into focus. The first thing he saw was the overcast sky. The next was the ring of figures standing around him. They were all tall, with conical helmets and form fitting armor colored white and red. Their emotionless gazes bore into Eragon as he lay there. Eragon reached out with his mind to feel those of the figures that stood around him. Their defenses were iron hard and thrumming with power. Behind them Eragon sensed alien thoughts and strange, blurred images accompanied by a sort of…music. It was all he could describe it as. They were akin to the minds of the elves from Alageasia, except these were even more alien.

Two of the figures parted to amid a third into the circle. Eragon looked at the newcomer, and his eyes widened. She was female, that much was clear. She was beautiful, beyond anything Eragon had ever seen. She wore elaborately worked robes and clasped a strange spear that seemed to shiver with potent energies. Eragon reached out to her, only to be struck by a powerful mental jab that sent him reeling back. Along with the jab Eragon felt something else, a power building in the newcomer's mind with undoubtedly hostile intent.

"Wait" Eragon cried out in the Ancient Language. "I am a Rider and a friend"

There was no reaction from any of the figures, except a strengthening of the power in the newcomer's mind. Eragon belatedly realized that they must not have understood him. Again, Eragon cried out, trying to raise himself to his feet. He found his limbs locked into place by an invisible force, and he could only watch helplessly as the power continued to build.

"Why?" he asked in the common tongue, "Why do you wish to kill me?"

This finally got a reaction from the watching strangers. The newcomer spoke. "I need not explain to a mon'kiegh why his deserved death must come" she said in a voice full of arrogance and power. Her voice was also strangely distorted, with an alien quality that Eragon couldn't describe. He watched as light began to build in her eyes. He heard a strange roaring noise in the distance that started to get louder. Eragon, too busy in his attempts to deflect the elf's attack, did not sense the newcomers and so was as surprised as the elves were when ten, no, twenty Angels Encarmine came out of nowhere, falling from the heavens like divine warriors sent to do combat.

The Angels Encarmine were quick to take advantage of their surprise. Chainswords revving, they cut down seven of the circle of elves, who were finally galvanized into action by the slaughter of their comrades. They lunged forward, their spear and swords aimed directly at the Astartes who dared attack them so. Eragon looked around and saw more elves charging forward with blades or shooting at the Astartes with their strange rifles. Looking the other way he saw Angels Encarmine emerging from the jungle, bolters leveled and roaring. Among the red clad figures strode a larger one painted in blue and gold. Eragon recognized Severus Ullmar and his retinue, all of whom were charging out alongside the Angels Encarmine.

Ullmar turned to Eragon and shouted "Run Bromsson! These foes are beyond your ability!" Eragon, happy to oblige, got to his feet as fast as he could and started sprinting toward the jungle. Pouring on all of his strength he drove his legs to their limits as he fled the area. Just as he was about to reach the cover of the foliage pain seared across his left thigh. His legs collapsed beneath him, and Eragon would have fallen, hard, had not an Angel Encarmine grabbed him. Cradling the Rider in his massive arms the Astartes, accompanied by his fellows, ran for all they were worth, carrying their precious burden away from the fight.

…

Severus Ullmar watched with relief as the squad of Angels Encarmine left with Bromsson. He could worry about reclaiming him later, for now he was focused on eliminating the Eldar who had threatened one who was chosen by the Emperor Himself. Growling, Severus turned the fury of his lascannons on the Eldar ranger who had hit Bromsson. The purple tinged beams completely incinerated the Eldar, as well as those around him. Pouring out ammunition through his storm bolter, Severus watched as Angels Encarmine drop pods crashed to the ground from their strike cruiser. Dreadnoughts and Baal Predator tanks rolled out, turning the fury of their assault cannons on the upstart xenos. If he could have, Severus would have frowned. Such an action with tanks was not sanctioned by the Codex Astartes. On the other hand, the sons of Sanginius had never been known for their adherence to the Codex, and Severus decided it would be counterproductive to bring the issue up now.

Watching, he saw the Eldar start to counter charge, the ones known as the howling banshees first. The rangers were little more than ash in the breeze, but the dark reapers had fended off the armored assault and were now concentrating their fire at a single point in the Astartes' battle line.

They were still after Bromsson, Severus realized. Their strategy was working too, as the middle of the Astartes battle line collapsed under the barrage the dark reapers sent at them. Occupied as they were with the dark reapers, the combat squads would fare poorly against the howling banshees once they were in melee range. Something had to be done.

That something took the form of a drop pod that crashed directly into the squad of dark reapers. Those who weren't killed by the impact of the pod were torn apart by the furioso dreadnought that emerged from the pod.

Freed from the menace of the dark reapers, the combat and devastator squads turned their firepower on the charging howling banshees. The rapid fire bolter barrage took a terrible toll on the melee equipped Eldar, who fell like tall grass before a gale. Satisfied, Severus turned to see how the fight against the farseer went.

Her surrounding warlocks were dead, and now she was dueling Codicier Caesar, singing spear to force staff. The assault squads who had first assaulted the warlocks were either fighting other opponents or participating in the fight against the witch. Even so, it was a close fight. Five Astartes against one farseer, and still she had not died. Severus snarled. It was time to end this fight.

He charged forward, knocking aside the few howling banshees who had made it to his position, and swung his powerfist at the Eldar farseer. With incredible grace, she ducked the blow, but was hit in the leg by another Astartes' chainsword. Screaming in pain, she collapsed. Severus grasped the alien in his fist, and prepared to crush her to a pulp. He then felt a presence in his mind, and judging by the surprised movements of his fellow space marines they felt it too.

_Wait_ the farseer said, despite the terrible pain she felt. _You know not what you are dealing with. The half breed, he will doom us all!_

_ I have seen it. He will be tempted by Chaos, he will be exposed to the Changer of Ways. The galaxy will see the rise of a sorcerer equal to Ahriman himself! You must…_

"The words of the xeno are naught but lies" Severus growled, and he clenched his fist.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 21

_000 M42_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 6_

_Much has happened since my last entry. Bromsson is under the care of the Ultramarines once again, though I admit it is more due to luck than anything else._

_A general call for reinforcements has been heard amongst the stars. Apparently there is a mass ork incursion on the shrine world Apocrypha. I do not know the details of this invasion. No one does I am sure, for the message contains only the most basic plea for help._

_I cannot say that I am surprised that orks are desecrating one of His sacred shrine worlds. At least, I am not surprised it is this one. Apocrypha lies within the Armageddon Sector, which as any loyal subject of the Emperor knows is infested with orks after the invasion launched by Ghazgull. I only hope that we arrive soon enough to contain the orks before they spread too far._

_The hurried departure after the Eldar attack is one of the reasons why Eragon is not with the Angels Encarmine. But I suspect there is another. I have had exceptional difficulty in finding Bromsson lately. I hardly see him at all, and when I do see him he makes active attempts to lose me. They are doomed to failure, for he is too distinctive a figure and attracts too much attention to truly be successful in hiding from me. Yet until now I have been willing to respect this decision on his part. It must come to an end however. I plan to corner him as soon as I am done with this journal entry._

…

The chorus of lasguns firing was interrupted by the base roar of a heavy bolter. Pressing the trigger Eragon fired off three rounds at the target. Only one of them hit. He grimaced at his lousy shooting. He had hit the target, true, but he was no longer a fresh faced guardsman. He was a storm trooper, and as such had to improve his aim, for on this battlefield, aim could save or kill a man.

He pressed the trigger again, feeling the recoil of the heavy bolter punch against his shoulder. Three inch wide shots were thrown out of the gun and sent hurtling toward the target. Again, only one impacted on target. He frowned again, thinking about the advice that Russ had given to him about the weapon he held.

He repeated the process over and over, until his ammunition belt ran dry. Sighing at his shoddy marksmanship he slung his cumbersome weapon onto his back, grabbed another belt of bolts, and left the range, discouraged.

He was currently in the enormous training room of the battleship _Majestic_. All around him guardsmen were drilling. Some, like him, were on the firing ranges. Others were practicing melee attacks or simply exercising. Eragon walked through the throngs around him.

"Bromsson!" a voice called out. Eragon turned to see Korosov striding towards him, his coat flapping out slightly. Eragon looked around, but then decided that he could not disobey the order implied in the commissar's call. With reluctance, Eragon turned and walked to the commissar. Upon meeting him he snapped to attention. "Lieutenant Bromsson reporting, sir"

Korosov did not give the order to be at ease, which Eragon had rather hoped for. Instead, he stared at Eragon, his eyes roving his body and face. Eragon knew he was being evaluated, though for what he did not know. Finally Korosov stated "You've been derelict in your duties soldier"

It took Eragon a moment to realize what the commissar was talking about. Then he thought about the past few days, of his constant wariness of being cornered by the Ultramarines, and how he had missed some of the rituals, exercises, and prayers of his squad in his efforts.

"Sir, I have done alternatives to the missed activities" he stated.

Korosov shook his head. "It's not enough." He looked Eragon straight in the eye, and the intensity of his gaze startled the Rider. "This is not your home Eragon, and you are not what you were. This is the Imperial Guard, the hammer of the Emperor, and you are but a guardsman in His service.

"See the men around you? Many of them are the finest warriors their planets can offer. That is one thing they have in common. The other is discipline, something you lack"

Eragon started to protest, but Korosov stared him down until his response died. "No, you don't have it. That very action proves it. Some men of my station would shoot you for such a break in discipline. I shall only say this once: remain silent until I give permission. That is what attention means"

Eragon's cheeks burned with embarrassment at what the commissar was saying. He supposed he did see what the man's point, but why deliver it in such a way? His pride still stung, but Korosov's words returned to him. _You are but a guardsman in His service._

Korosov saw that he had Eragon's complete attention and continued. "Lieutenant Bromsson, explain to me why you have missed your duties"

"Why does it matter, sir? Captain Dare hasn't complained"

"That's because she is afraid to chastise you, afraid of what the Ultramarines would do to her if you complained. But trust me when I say that I am not.

"Discipline is the backbone of any army. An army that has it can beat anything. An army that doesn't will be killed. It's that simple.

"Now for the last time, why have you missed your duties?"

Eragon thought quickly. He did not want to admit the true reason, that he was avoiding his space marine custodians. He rapidly thought of an improvised answer but stopped dead when Korosov's words about discipline rang out in his mind. He tried to avoid it, but was faced with the fact that the disciplined, not to mention honorable, thing to do was to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.

"Sir, I've been avoiding the Ultramarines" Eragon said in a low voice.

Surprise flitted briefly across Korosov's face before he schooled it into a stern visage. "Speak louder" he ordered.

Thoroughly defeated, Eragon spoke more loudly. "Sir, I've been avoiding the Ultramarines"

"This must end. I do not care what reason you have for avoiding them, you are being insubordinate to your lords, and that is something I will not tolerate, from you or any guardsman"

"Yes sir" Eragon stated. The commissar was right. He was being weak. Brom would not have approved of this, not at all.

Korosov's eyes softened a little. "Good. Report to the Ultramarines. After that you will go to your captain and submit yourself completely to her discipline. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir, understood"

"Good. You are dismissed" With that Korosov turned and walked away. Eragon stood there for a moment, then he squared his shoulders and started his search for the Ultramarines. His search was interrupted when Leman Russ shouldered his way through the surrounding guardsmen and said "Where do you think you're going?"

Hoping to avoid another confrontation, Eragon said "To the Ultramarines"

"Why?"

"Korosov's orders"

"Hang on a sec, let me talk to you" he looked at the surrounding guardsmen, some of whom were looking at them. "Scram" he ordered. They did so, albeit reluctantly. Russ turned back to Eragon. "You want to tell me why you've been avoiding them?" he asked

Eragon looked to his friend in surprise.

"I'm not stupid, Bromsson. I know you've been avoiding them"

Eragon nodded back, chastened. He thought for a moment, thought back to what Korosov had said about discipline, and decided to admit the truth to Russ.

"Remember back on Ceta Prime when we came to the village and saw what the Angels Encarmine had done to the natives?" he asked.

Russ looked at his squadmate. Despite his abilities he was still a young man, almost a boy. Cadians would have called him a whiteshield. And it looked like he was an idealist too. Leman Russ sighed.

"Come on" he said, draping an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Let's walk" They turned and started doing so. As they continued, Russ said "Yeah, I remember what we saw. What about it?"

Eragon looked to him. "They killed everyone" he said quietly. "Men, women, children, all of them. Why?"

Russ was silent for a long time. When he spoke, it was with a hint of sadness. "Son, if there's one thing you need to know, it's that war is ugly"

"But no honorable warrior kills children" Eragon cried out.

"They do if they are a threat to them or their comrades" Russ stated. He stopped and looked Eragon in the eye. "Eragon, I know you have ideals, and I'm sorry. But the galaxy is too dangerous to be anything but harsh.

"The Angels Encarmine were thorough in their work, yes, but what if the villagers had regrouped? What if they had attacked us?"

To that, Eragon had no answer. Russ resumed walking with him. Then he said "Are you afraid that the Ultramarines will be the same?" he asked.

Eragon nodded.

"They may be hide bound to their codex, but some of them truly care about the Imperium's subjects, which is something other chapters cannot claim. That and more honorable men you would be hard pressed to find" Russ stopped again and looked Eragon in the eye. "Men do not run from their fears Eragon. They confront them, and in so doing they become stronger. Understand?"

"Yes" Eragon responded.

"Are you ready to stop being a boy and start being a man?" Russ asked, dead serious.

"Yes"

Russ smiled. "Good. Let's go to the Ultramarines" He looked around. "Speaking of them, where are they?"

Together the two storm troopers turned around and started their search for the Astartes. Despite their best efforts it took them what felt like fifteen minutes to find the Ultramarines, such was the size of the training room. Finally, Russ pointed out Severus Ullmar, who appeared to be looking for Eragon. The two of them strode over to the dreadnought.

"Bromsson" Severus greeted. "Lieutenant Russ"

"Dreadnought Ullmar" Eragon replied.

"If you would leave us, please" the dreadnought said, gesturing towards Russ. Russ snapped a salute and walked away, leaving the Rider with his custodian.

"You have been avoiding us" Severus Ullmar stated.

"Yes, sir, I have" Eragon stated back.

"Why have you been doing this?"

"I was afraid you would be like the Angels Encarmine"

This appeared to surprise the Ultramarine. The only indication of this was the slight pause before he asked "In what way?"

"I was afraid that you would be as brutal as they are"

"We do not suffer from the Black Rage, Eragon"

"Yes, I know. But do you kill noncombatants?"

"When needed to, yes"

Eragon felt his heart drop. So it was true. All space marines were as brutal as the Angels Encarmine were. His already wavering faith in the Astartes was shattered by this revelation.

"Why?" Eragon burst out.

"What?"

"They are no threat to you. Why do you kill them?"

"Because they are wretches born outside of the Emperor's holy influence"

A horrifying possibility hit Eragon. "Does the Emperor condone this?"

"We are his angels of death, the deliverers of his wrath. Among all of His servants we stand supreme. Of course He condones our actions"

This ran counter to what Eragon had learned from the Ecclesiarchy. "But isn't it said that the Emperor is the savior and father of all mankind?" he asked, emphasizing the word all. Eragon was hoping desperately that he had not struck a pact with this sort of monster. But if he had, would he be able to renege on the deal when He could return Eragon to Saphira?

"He also demands that we persecute the enemies of his Imperium"

"For what reason?"

Ullmar said nothing for a few moments, the said incredulously "Surely you see the expediency of defending His subjects from those who harm them"

"Of course I do" Eragon retorted. "But what about the civilians? What about those men and women who do not fight against the Imperium? Why should they die? Is it a crime to be born outside of the Imperium? Doesn't the Emperor's benevolence extend to all men? Wouldn't he continue on even if there was a single human who needed Him?" He couldn't believe that he had sided with these monsters, and he was determined to win this conversation.

"They are either against us or with us" Ullmar said sternly.

Eragons face set in a determined expression. He would not capitulate to the Astartes. A thought occurred to him.

"What about the Great Crusade? Did the Emperor just kill everything in his path? Did he condemn every human that crossed his path to death because they did not belong to his Imperium? No! He incorporated them into His Imperium. He became their shepherd, and they his flock!"

Eragon noticed that Ullmar had fallen silent. Finally, he seemed to have struck a nerve in the old superhuman. He looked at the dreadnought, wondering what was passing through his mind. Finally, the dreadnought said "You may go"

Eragon turned and left without another word, his mind whirling with what he had learned. He had been promised to a group of monsters, headed by the arch monster the Emperor.

Eragon shook his head. No, the Emperor couldn't sanction this sort of brutality.

At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

…

_000 M42_

_Journal of Severus Ullmar_

_Entry 7_

_I do not know what to say. For the first time in my life as an Astartes, I am lost._

_Bromsson's words cannot be construed in any other way. In his eyes I am sure that I am the perpetrator of a thousand crimes, or rather a crime that I have repeated a thousand times._

_At first, Bromsson's words sound ridiculous. Of course it is a crime to be born outside the Imperium! If you are not with the Emperor, you are against Him. How many traitors have learned this? Uncountable multitudes. How many humans have learned to fear the Imperium? Multitudes!_

_But the Great Crusade…he…has…a…point. Certainly the Emperor killed millions to make His Imperium, but He left the majority of them alive. Why? To build a great Imperium? Or to save mankind?_

_Had Bromsson's words come from anybody else I would have referred them to the commissar for heresy. But these words have come all the same, from one marked by the Emperor no less. Is there another reason why he was chosen by the Emperor? Have we deviated from the path laid out by Him? I shudder at the thought. It is ridiculous. We are Adeptus Astartes, His angels of death. We are the most loyal, the most powerful, the best enactors of His will. As least, that is what I thought._

_Were it anyone else's words I would have dismissed them. But the Marked Man has spoken, and has found me wanting. Me and every angel of death in His service._


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 22

Murtagh sighed as he pushed another pile of notes aside. He had lost track of the days that he had spent in the Grey Folk's city, but he guessed it had been over a month. With the enhancements Galbatorix had made to him it had been an easy matter for Angela to teach the language of the Grey Folk to him, but he felt he was almost no closer to comprehending the tablets of the archive than when he had first arrived.

_Angela was right_, he thought sourly. Why the Grey Folk couldn't just spit out their blasted prophecies was beyond him. Take the line he was studying for example. _Brothers united will slay the son of the phoenix._ It was the same line that Angela had spoken to him when they had first arrived, but it was still confusing. Murtagh did not know what a phoenix was, at least not until Angela had explained it. It was still confusing though.

It only got worse the more he had studied. Murtagh shook his head. _Focus on the line _he told himself. Focus on the blasted line. It would not do for him to be driven mad by jumping all over what he had learned. Better to decode it bit by bit.

So, brothers united will slay the son of the phoenix. Murtagh wracked his brain, thinking of all the history lessons that he had received. None came to mind. The Forsworn had all been slain by one man at a time or by a cabal led by Brom himself. And as far as he knew, Brom had no surviving siblings. Though that could mean figurative brothers, like so many other terms were figurative in this blasted script.

Murtagh groaned. Then a thought occurred to him. Eragon could not have slain Galbatorix himself. Not without Murtagh's help. They were literal brothers, or at least half brothers, so could Galbatorix be the son of the phoenix? His symbol was a twisting flame, after all, and Angela had described the phoenix as a great, fiery bird. Certainly Galbatorix had been majestic enough to be a figurative son of the phoenix. He turned to his notes and wrote the idea down. Now, to move on. Angela was gone, so he couldn't propose the idea to her, but if it was true, then he could use it as a reference to construct a timeline.

Minutes later, Murtagh came to regret his newfound optimism. The tablet was still as confusing as ever, riddled with seemingly meaningless ramblings. Murtagh rubbed his temples and decided he needed to do something, anything, other than read this wretched tablet. He stood up and turned to leave the room when something caught his eye. A glint of something silver.

The tablet he had been studying was at the back of the room, near a wall. It was the first time that Murtagh had been at this particular tablet, and so it was that he had noticed the shadowed drawer that was sitting close by, just barely opened. It was from there that the gleam was coming from. Curious, Murtagh walked nearer to it, glad of the reprieve from his study. He pulled the drawer open. Inside was something that looked like liquid silver, except it couldn't have been; there was no heat coming from it. Murtagh extended his mind but felt nothing. He reached in and touched the liquid.

It reacted instantly. It slid up and out of the drawer and onto Murtagh's hand and arm, coating it in a layer of the silver substance.

Murtagh yelled, jumping back and scrabbling at the silver with his other hand. This served only to transfer some of the silver to his other hand and arm. Murtagh, even more alarmed, scrubbed harder and faster, his hands a blur as he scratched and pulled at the blasted substance. His actions did absolutely nothing to halt the spread of the silver as climbed up his arms. It finally stopped, just short of his shoulders. Murtagh, still scrabbling frantically at his arms, ran out of the building in search of Angela.

"Angela!" he shouted, then cursed himself for an idiot as he remembered that Saphira had taken Angela to get more parchment and ink earlier that week. Thorn was away hunting, which meant he was alone. He turned and entered the ruined archive again, still pulling at the silver that coated his arms. It resolutely stayed there, without a single reaction. Murtagh walked over to his saddlebags, pulling out a small knife. Carefully, he tried to peel away the layer of silver on his arms with the blade. The knife scraped against the silver but had no effect. Murtagh pressed harder. Still, there was no effect.

Feeling a measure of his earlier panic, Murtagh pressed as hard as he could, exerting the full amount of this superhuman strength. The silver flexed under the pressure, and Murtagh could feel his flesh beneath it respond to the pressure. With a snap, the knife blade broke in his hand, and its handle impacted on his newly silvered arm.

Murtagh cursed, and decided that a more radical idea was needed. Unsheathing Zar'roc, Murtagh pulled the sword up to his arm and laid its edge on the silver. He pulled it back and forth, trying to cut through the strange substance.

The dragon rider's sword, unlike the knife before it, had some effect. A small cut was formed. Murtagh stopped his sawing, relieved. His relief, however, was soon dispelled when he noticed the cut was shrinking. In a few seconds the cut was gone, as if it had never existed.

Murtagh felt a chill run down his back. Whatever this substance was, it was unnatural. He was about to reapply the blade of his sword when he heard a slight shifting noise. He looked up, but saw nothing. Still, his paranoia would not let him disregard it. Still looking around, he lowered the barriers around his mind and let his senses extend themselves out.

He immediately found what he was looking for. Four minds were observing him…no, they were stalking him. What was more, they were immediately aware of the mental contact he made. Realizing that they were detected, the four minds stopped stalking and started their attack.

Murtagh's sword was up and ready when for indistinct shapes charged towards him. Even with his enhanced senses they were hard to detect. Their skin appeared to actually change its color to blend in with its surroundings, and they moved with hardly any sound at all.

The first one lashed out with a camouflaged limb. Murtagh sidestepped the blow and swung Zar'roc. The crimson blade cut through the middle of the shape. With a screech it fell, its skin turning a panoply of different colors. Murtagh was finally able to truly make out its shape.

It stood three feet taller than he did. It possessed six limbs total: two reverse jointed legs, two arms with wickedly sharp talons, and two mantis like appendages that grew straight out of the thing's shoulders. Its head was dominated by a mass of bone tipped tentacles placed where a mouth should have been. Its eyes were a sinister yellow in color.

The other three monsters, seeing their comrade dead on the ground, ceased their lightning assault and carefully circled around him. One struck out from behind the Rider, forcing him to duck.

Murtagh thought quickly. These beasts' reactions were on par with his own, perhaps even faster. And they were intelligent too. Testing his defenses like this, it was only a matter of time before one of them found a weakness and exploited it.

"Garjzla" Murtagh said, breaching the barrier in his mind. But what happened next surprised him. Instead of three red lights shooting from his palm, a wave of force crashed through his mind, disorganizing and sweeping his thoughts aside, and blasted out of him. The three remaining beasts, their dead compatriot, and all nearby tablets were blown backward by the incredible energy Murtagh had unleashed.

Murtagh yelled, trying to control the deluge of power, growing even more alarmed when he started hearing whispering voices in his head. An entity invaded his mind, seeming to ride the currents of magic that were flooding his head.

Murtagh snarled. Only one person had violated his mind before, and he was not about to let something else gain a purchase on it. Mustering his mental might he pushed back as hard as he could. The flood of power ceased, but the entity remained, gibbering and howling in his mind. Murtagh felt his thoughts being swept aside as the thing continued its efforts to dominate him.

With a supreme effort, Murtagh pushed the being out. Darkness invaded his vision, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.


End file.
